The guard pointed at the man standing on the opposite side of the gate and talked softly so that his words could not be heard.
The old man motioned for him to open the gate and he stepped through and crossed the moat. His boots made no noise, but his sword rattled and thumped as it dragged behind as he stepped across the large roughhewn planks.
A smile broke across his face. He stepped forward and gripped Rule by his forearm with both hands. “Rule, you fool, it has been a long time! Ye look the same as ye did those twenty some years ago.”
Rule returned the grin and slapped the man hard on his back. “Brighton, you bastard! I thought you were dead!”
Brighton snorted. “Only for the umpteenth time, but alas, the gods don’t want me.”
“It is good to see you.”
“And you! So, what brings you to castle Jonovan at the crack of dawn? The guard said you were demanding to see the king or some such nonsense.”
Rule’s eyes narrowed. “I am afraid I come bearing bad news.”
Brighton saw his expression and his mood soured. “Well, such that it is… Come, let’s go sit by the fire and talk.”
Rule nodded curtly and followed the old man as he pushed the guard out of the way and led Rule into the keep. Rule led his horse and handed the reins to the stable boy. The lanky lad dressed in ragtag clothes looked the animal up and down and whistled his approval. Rule’s horse was of legendary stature, almost 17 hands tall and his lines were superb.
Rule tossed a copper to the boy. “See that he is brushed down, fed and watered.”
“Yes, sir!” the lad said.
Brighton shook a finger at the lad. “This horse is important. Treat it like ye would yer sister.”
The lad bowed his head and nodded. He took the horse by the reins and tried to pull her toward the stables. The horse threw its head back and whinnied, unwilling to move. Rule stepped up and stroked the horse’s nose. “It’s okay. Go with the lad. He will take care of you!”
The horse stomped its foot and shook his head side to side.
“Go on with you…” Rule pointed toward the stables. “If you are nice, he may give you some corn!”
The horse’s ears perked up and it snorted loudly.
The sound of a horse blow and several nickers came from the stables, causing Rule’s horse to nicker loudly. It turned and followed the boy.
Rule watched it go.
“Seems to have a mind of its own,” Brighton muttered.
“You have no idea…” Rule said, whilst smiling, but keeping the rest of his thoughts buried.
Rule followed Brighton up the path to the keep.
Within minutes, the two old friends were sitting in front of a blazing fire with mugs of hot cider and a plate of piping hot bread between them. Brighton unbuckled his broadsword and set it leaning against the stones of the hearth. He used the hearth to stand tall and winced to straighten his aging back.
Rule laughed. “You still carry that rusty old sword around?”
“I guess I’m a bit sentimental. That sword and I have been through a lot!”
Rule nodded and undid his belt and set his sword on his lap.
Brighton grinned back. “Old habits are hard to break!”
Rule jabbed his friend in his side. “I’m surprised you can still lift it!”
Brighton rubbed his ribs. “Not much fighting these days, so I’m out of practice. Besides, I grow old—unlike you!”
“Maybe there is no fighting here,” Rule harassed. “But I have seen plenty.”
“I notice you ignored my comment about growing old.”
Rule shrugged. “What is, is!”
Brighton struggled to lower himself to the chair. “You ain’t the one with creaking bones, sore muscles.”
“Suppose not…”
Brighton’s eyes welled up. “Every day I grow weaker, my eyes are crap, my legs hurt and I pass gas like there is no tomorrow!”
The comment made Rule chortle. “As I recall, you passed gas like that when you were young.”
Brighton laughed hard enough to make him snort, “I was eating half a pig and a keg of beer with it. Now, it matters not.”
“I will keep my distance then,” Rule joked. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my eyes if you get a case of the vapors!”
They both roared, which was followed by several loud exchanges from Brighton as he passed gas. Rule waved his hands and wiped his eyes clear. He laughed out loud, which didn’t help the situation.
“See?”
“Not with the sour gas in my eyes!” Rule replied.
The two stared into each other’s faces for a while, letting the years catch up with them.
“Still, I could have chosen the path. It’s the magic them elves gave ye!” Brighton said, with a nod.
Rule leaned in and set his hand on his friend’s knee and gave it a squeeze. Brighton nodded weakly.
“It is, Brighton. But some days it is not perceived as a gift,” Rule said, in reflection. “It has a high cost.”
“I know.” Brighton’s eyes filled with sadness. “How many of us have died and grown old on your watch?”
“Too many...most,” Rule replied in a quaking whisper. “All my friends from those days. You are the very last that I know of.”
“Well, it makes me feel special then.”
“You have always been special my friend.”
Brighton slapped his knee. “That must be why ye visit so often.”
Rule cursed under his breath. “Sorry about that. Time has kind of slipped away from me.”
“Supposen if you don’t be needing to worry about it, it would.”
They both paused and took big sips from their mugs and stared off into the glowing embers of the fire. Rule grabbed a small roll and lathered it up with butter before taking a bite. How long had it been since he had butter? He couldn’t recall…
“I have five kids ye know!’
Rule grinned and slapped him on the back. “I didn’t know.”
“Second wife though—first died with the pox.”
Rule searched his memory. “Wasn’t her name Jessica, or Jill...no, that’s not right, it was…Jenny?”
Brighton nodded with a tear in his eyes. “It was painful at the end.”
Rule’s lips went tight. “She knew ye loved her?”
“She did…”
“Well then,” Rule raised his mug, “to Jenny!”
“Jenny!” Brighton echoed weakly before he drained the mug and wiped the foam from his lips with his sleeve.
“My new wife’s name is Lizabeth…she’s more than a few years younger than me.”
“Good for you then!”
“She’ll be the death of me…” Brighton sighed, and poked Rule in the side.
Rule smiled. “But what a way to go.”
“Aye! Better than by the sword, that’s for certain..” Brighton said, with a snigger.
There was an uneasy silence in the stone room as they both fought for the right words to say to each other. Once good friends, one chose a path of king’s honor and family, the other, duty to the realms. Each had rewards and costs. Each coveted what the other had.
Brighton broke the melancholy mood, gabbed a loaf of peasant bread, maslin, from the platter on the table, tore off a chunk and tossed the rest to Rule. “Have you broken your fast yet?”
“Only the roll I grabbed a bit ago,” Rule said, as he shook his head and felt his stomach growl.
Brighton snorted. “Elves made it so ye don’t need to eat too?”
Rule gave him a look, “I wish!”
Rule held the loaf to his nose and breathed in the sweet smell of the rye flour. He took a bite of the course bread, tore off a chunk of cheese from the large wedge a slightly plump serving girl had brought and popped it into his mouth.
She stood off in the shadows, waiting to serve. Rule studied her face. The girl had high cheeks and dark-brown eyes. She watched Rule intently and fluttered her eyes at him as she p
ulled the hair from the front of her face and leaned over to grab a pitcher of cider, exposing firm well-rounded breasts held tightly in place by nothing more than a cord woven and tied to her blouse with a simple knot. Rule smiled back and winked.
Brighton caught the exchange and laughed. “There will be time enough for that...later.”
“There is never a later..” Rule sadly voiced.
Brighton chuckled. “The urges ain’t passed you yet?”
Rule tried not to blush.
“That’s another thing that doesn’t work like it used to when I was young…”
Rule suppressed a laugh, but Brighton heard it.
Brighton snorted. “Damn thing just lays there ignoring my commands. But someday, it surprises me…and with a little coaxing—”
They laughed together until they were sore, causing Brighton to fart loudly.
“So, what is this important news you bring such that you need to talk to the king himself?”
Rule frowned. “Invasion’s coming.”
Brighton took a hunk of bread and spread some butter across the top, watching it melt. He shoved it into his mouth and mumbled, “Where?”
“Here!”
Brighton choked and spit his food to the floor. “I..Invasion, here?”
Rule nodded and calmly took another bite of bread and stared off into the hearth. He shoved a sausage into his mouth and tore it off by jerking his head to the side.
“Well, talk man! Don’t ye leave me hanging…”
Rule pushed himself erect and turned on his chair to directly face the man while he finished chewing. He pointed the fork at his friend while he talked. “Killoroy’s army is on the move, heading your way. They plan on attacking day after tomorrow. Exact hour—I don’t know.”
“Killoroy? What the halla!” Brighton spit to the ground.
Rule abruptly shrugged and stabbed another sausage on the plate.
“If that just doesn’t take all…”
Rule agreed. “You know of any reasons or recent animosity between yer lords?”
Brighton shook his head and gave him a sideways glance. “No more than the usual crap. You know them damn highbrows can’t get along for shit!”
Rule nodded, knowing it was the simple truth. “The army travels with rams and archers. I found them coming in above your castle. I’d make sure you are protected from arrows from above. I figure there are over five or six hundred men.”
Brighton shook his head gruffly and tossed a chunk of bread at a rat hiding in the corner of the room. “Damn it! It’s always something.”
The rat ducked out of the way, letting the bread hit the floor. It scampered to the chunk and gripped it. Standing on its hind legs, it held the chunk in its paws as it nibbled away, squeaking incessantly.
“Fucking rats!’
Rule pulled a small six inch pike from his sleeve and with the flick of the wrist impaled the rat at fifteen feet. It twitched twice and fell still.
Brighton looked on in amazement at the quiet display of skill. He had heard that a warder’s skills and senses are keener than a normal man’s. He just had never seen such a simple act done so easily before.
Rule stood, retrieved his pike and replaced it in his jacket after wiping it clean on a rag. He kicked the rat over to the door. “I thought you should know. I thought the treaties have kept things relatively civil.”
“They have. That’s why I just can’t understand it. What the halla is he thinking?”
Rule scowled as he pulled his knife from his belt and dug in his teeth to release a rogue piece of sausage wedged snuggly between two teeth. He spit it to the ground. “I suspect he has grown weary of his stature. He always was more ambitious than his father.”
“But he has to know I, the lord, will call on the other clans…and the brothers.”
“I think he rationalized that by the time you did that, he’d have consolidated the two armies. I surmise that surprise is a key element in his plan.”
Brighton nodded and stared into the fire. “Makes sense…We don’t have much time.”
“You don’t have much time, Rule corrected.
Brighton’s head snapped to the side. “You aren’t joining the fight.”
“I fight a different battle. You know that.” Rule used his knife to carve off another big chunk of dried sausage he had skewered.
Brighton confirmed his observations. “Been enough strange going-ons as of late. That’s for sure.”
Rule tossed a small wedge of cheese that had gone bad into the fire. “True. I have a bad feeling…”
Brighton turned to his friend. “Me too.”
They caught each other’s eyes and both saw the shared concern.
“Reminds me of the bard stories from my great, great, grandfathers days.
Rule nodded.
“Are you sure it’s Killoroy?”
Rule’s lips drew tight. “I am. I have the clothes off one of the scouts in my pack. But I must confess, some of the men are not his. Mind you, they are well trained and follow his orders, but they are not from around here. They are mostly blond, pale-skinned, very thin.”
“That description doesn’t ring any bells with me. Maybe the king will know?” Brighton drained his mug and stood. “Speaking of the king, I guess we better get you to him. He is not going to be happy. He hates news like this in the morning, sets him in a foul mood for the day.”
Rule’s brows knit. “I haven’t seen Lord Bryn in a long time. He must be…what, late sixties?”
“Dead.” Brighton stated coldly.
“Dead? When?”
Brighton tossed a moldy chunk of cheese into the fire. “Back about eight, maybe nine years ago. He got taken by the pox right after my wife.”
Rule stared blankly. He had not known. “That is too bad. I liked the man.”
“I know, me too. His son is the king now…”
Rule could sense the strain in his friends voice. “And…”
Brighton considered scuttling the conversation, but spoke his mind instead. “And he is…not his father. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I see.”
Brighton frowned, trying to find the right words. “He…he doesn’t have his father’s experience, or passion. In many respects, he’s a harder man, but he falls victim to drink and the ladies too often.”
“Well, I guess I will meet him soon enough and form my own opinion.”
“He ain’t gonna be cordial. He has a couple fine young…village girls with him…” Brighton said, cracking a sly smile. “We might be interrupting something…”
“Well, that is just so sad.” Rule scoffed.
Brighton winced at the sarcasm.
Rule made a small fiddle with his fingers. “Being a king is so hard!”
Brighton’s eyes sparkled. “It is at that.”
Merl found himself on a small altar in a dark cave. He looked around before exiting.
The mouth of the cave was covered and he pushed aside the heavy shrubbery that hid it from view. He climbed down the small embankment and wandered down the narrow path. The path led him back up to a road.
There, he found another road leading up the other side of a fast-running stream. There was a small wooden bridge that arched the water, but it was rotted and nearly unusable. On the far side, the road wove its way up a tall hill. At the top sat a quaint dilapidated inn. From his vantage point, Merl saw that the siding was split and aged gray. The doors hung off the hinges and the windows had been broken out. It was obvious that none had lived there in a long time.
Merl thought about exploring the inn, but was afraid that thieves or bandits may about. The day was growing short and he needed to find a place to spend the night, but this was not it.
The road he stood on was well-maintained, leading him to the assumption that civilization would most likely be found in either direction. He supposed he could walk, but had no assurance that he would find a town in either direction for many days travel.
He dec
ided not to follow the rode and returned to the altar, placed his ring into the holder and pressed the next three symbols listed in his notebook.
He stepped into the mist and faded from view.
Darkhalla
A large bone-back demon, with its awkward gait and deformed limbs, escorted Zedd’aki to Warvyn’s private quarters and threw him roughly to the floor. He rolled to a stop and pushed himself to his knees, extending a trembling hand as he mumbled arcane words. The demon stared at him and broke into deep laugh, pointing his finger. He backhanded the mage and sent him sprawling to the floor. Zedd’aki rolled to his side, swore and tugged at the collar around his neck. He felt its vile magic. The ancient collar built during the time of Ror, meant to subdue the dark wizards, blocked all magic and if need be, the holder of the collar could force their will upon the wearer. The demon kicked him hard in the pit of his stomach causing him to roll into a tight ball and moan in pain.
Zedd’aki turned his head and saw Warvyn sitting in a throne-shaped chair, chuckling out-loud. “You think this is funny?”
Warvyn smiled, “I think this is hilarious.”
Zedd’aki stood and brushed himself off, still feeling the throbbing in his ribs. Warvyn motioned him forward.
“How dare you collar me!” Zedd’aki spoke, feeling the weight of the thick metallic collar that was magically locked about his neck.
“You are lucky to be alive Zedd’aki Dian Al’far. I dare to collar you for your own protection.”
“Protection? Bah!” Where did you get these cursed collars?”
“Those? They are curtsy of my brother,” Warvyn said, smiling weakly. “Without that collar, you would end up doing something stupid and end up dead. I need you alive!”
“Alive? This isn’t alive.”
Warvyn pointed a crooked finger, “You have no idea of what you speak, There are things far worse than being a captiv—”
“—and what do you mean courtesy of Ja’tar? He told me he destroyed all of them after Ror.”
“Oh, he did. These are new. I was referring to them being his creation.”
Zedd’aki’s face turned pale and he froze in place.
A huge smile broke out across Warvyn’s face, exposing his large fangs and forked tongue. “You didn’t know? I’m surprised he didn’t brag about them. They’re quite ingenious. The built in life spell is the most interesting twist. Even though you can’t touch the source of magic, you will not age. Immaterial here, but topside…”
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 26