by J. W. Webb
“The queen?” Silon’s gaze narrowed knowingly. “Regrettable. But Ariane did what she had to do.”
“She told you then.”
“Aye, she did.” Silon’s expression made Corin wonder what else Ariane had told the merchant.
Corin smiled bitterly. Again he was caught in the middle. “I saw that creep Morak this morning. Leastways something that looked like him, and felt like him.”
“More likely one of his brethren,” responded Silon, who also knew all concerning the fight at Kranek. “I like to hope the Dog-Lord’s still licking his wounds. But one cannot be sure, and we now know there are others. Rorshai scouts claim to have seen ghoul-like dog creatures high up in the mountains. The Rorshai are not the kind of people to imagine such things. Olen Valek lies close to the northern boundaries of their country.”
Corin had heard about the Rorshai. They were a fierce secretive people living in clans east of the mountains. They were rumoured to be the finest horseman in the world. They were also rumoured to be cruel-hearted killers.
“The old ruins?” Corin had heard of Olen Valek too. Most people had. “I heard they are closer to Wynais. Has anyone actually been there?”
“Zallerak has.”
“Well, there’s a surprise,” Corin chuckled wryly. “So you are acquainted with the… bard?”
“You don’t like him.”
“I don’t trust him.”
Silon laughed. “You don’t trust anyone, Corin an Fol.”
“It’s why I’m still alive.”
“I need you to stay that way.” Silon rubbed his diamond earring and stared hard at Corin. “We’ll speak more of this during the council.”
“One last thing.”
“Which is?”
“What’s the duke of Morwella doing here with his smiling daughter? And what’s with that bloody horn? How could such a thing kill those Groil? Is she a witch?”
“I daresay you’ll find that out later too. Oh, and be respectful in their presence, Corin. They’ve been through a lot. And I know how you like Morwellans. The council commences in an hour, I will see you then.”
***
The light spilling in from outside failed to lift his spirits. But then Yail Tolranna had little to be happy about of late. Every day the doubt and fear tore into him. Was he right in doing this? What if he was caught? But then he had to do something and what real choice was there? He loved the queen more than anyone. But Ariane had abandoned her people by leaving on that fruitless quest. The queen was headstrong and courageous. But she was rash and foolhardy and Caswallon was on to her.
And as for her advisors. Where were they?
Dazaleon was old, as blinded by his devotion to the Goddess as was his queen. Roman was dead, the contact had informed him of this after receiving word from his master. There was no one else. Certainly not that soft fool Galed. As for Tamersane, Yail’s younger brother had crashed in on Tolranna on his way south to that meddlesome merchant in Port Sarfe. They’d quarrelled heatedly and Tamersane had departed inside the hour.
Besides, Yail was doing this for his queen as well as his country. To protect both from the coming storm. The inevitable invasion from the north. Caswallon’s army was mustering, so the contact said. The spy from Port Wind. There will be a massacre unless the city is handed over.
“Open your gates to Kelthaine, Captain Tolranna,” the contact had said. “Your people, and more importantly your queen will be spared. You have Lord Caswallon’s word on this.”
So what choice did he have? Caswallon’s army had recently been reinforced with fell creatures and soon would fall upon Kelwyn like hammer striking tin. The contact had taken pains to explain to Yail just what had happened to those valiant royalists up in Kella City. Torture and slow cruel death.
There had to be another way.
Ariane would never understand. Yail Tolranna, passionate loyalist and fervent patriot, would be branded traitor forever. By queen and countrymen alike. Unjustly—when he was the only one who could save them from themselves. The parchment crinkled under his palms, he hurled it to the corner. Tolranna couldn’t bear to look at its contents any longer.
A letter from Caswallon. Coded and discreet. The spy had delivered it in person this morning. The words read thus:
Tolranna
My patience runs short while my army grows stronger.
I am a reasonable man but grow weary of your queen’s perverse animosity.
Only your prompt actions can save Kelwyn. I will not be mocked.
I trust you will comply with my latest instructions.
I await your swiftest response.
You will inform my man who will then contact me via bird.
Caswallon
Chapter 10
The Merchant’s Council
The bells sounded in Silon’s courtyard, announcing it time. A scrubbed and freshly garbed Corin accompanied Barin to the main hall. Two smartly dressed servants attended the doors with polite smiles and nods. They ushered the two men in and bade them take their seats. Corin could see there were only three spaces left around the table. He wondered who would claim the last one. The table was large, oval and highly polished. It dominated the ornate hall. Upon it were crystal vases of wine and water, together with silver bowls of exotic fruit.
“Last again,” muttered Barin under his breath and Corin repressed a smile. Neither had hurried to get here. He took his seat whilst stealing a glance at the other occupants of the room.
Queen Ariane was looking radiant in a pale green dress that shimmered slightly when trapped by sunlight. She was sitting opposite Corin, a delicate necklace of emeralds gracing her slender neck. Her dark hair looked glossy and her pale face intense. She talked quietly to Tamersane who slouched to her right, lazily nodding at her words.
Corin had never seen Ariane looking so queenly. He smiled her way and she nodded briefly before returning her attentions to her cousin.
To Ariane’s left were seated Galed, dressed in neat dun velvet, and young Cale in smart blue trews and matching jacket. Corin was surprised by the boy’s presence. He hadn’t expected Cale to be at the council—urchin as he was. That said, the boy had scrubbed up well. The southern sunshine had dried his spotty chin—he looked quite presentable.
Galed’s brown eyes met Corin and the squire nodded slightly. Beside Galed perched Bleyne, his tattooed face inscrutable as ever as he listened in to the queen’s words.
Corin tensed when he saw the swarthy character seated to the left of Bleyne. A stranger—and from the wrong side of the Liaho by his look. Corin stared rudely across the table. But if the stranger noticed he gave no sign.
He wore a full beard, the face beneath artful, crisscrossed with thin scars; his long black hair held up by a scarlet cloth wound tightly around his head. The southerner was clad in a loose white gown with brightly striped baggy trousers of various fading colours, beneath were pointed silk shoes, which turned up at the front.
A man of the desert. At his side, supported by a jewel-encrusted belt, hung a curved scimitar with ornate silver hilt. Corin’s frown deepened; he had fought against men just like this stranger in the wild lands south of the Liaho. He questioned Silon’s wisdom in letting a Permian inside his walls.
Corin listened when the merchant introduced the man as Yashan, leader of the Sundhami, one of the many tribes that roamed the vast southern deserts. The Permian nodded curtly, he caught Corin’s hostile eye and smiled slightly. He had a dangerous smile. Corin smiled back, equally dangerously, then casually turned his attention to the other guests.
At Corin’s right was seated a burly individual in his middle years. He owned a large red face, dominated by a broad flat broken nose and bristling mustachios, these drooping down either side of his ruddy chin in the favoured style of Kelthaine. Corin needed no introduction to this man. Here was one known and respected throughout the Four Kingdoms.
Belmarius, lord General of the Bears, the once revered second regiment of Kelthain
e—now ostracised and driven south by the usurper, Caswallon. The big general grunted in Corin’s direction as though vaguely recalling him from somewhere.
Adjacent to Barin and Corin was seated Silon, looking splendid in gold-trimmed navy silk—his diamond earring, like Ariane’s dress, trapping the sunlight.
To Silon’s left was seated a noble looking man in his late middle years. His face elegant though thinly drawn. He appeared haggard, and his moist blue eyes held a haunted expression. He wore a long tunic of scarlet trimmed with gold, but that rich garb looked as faded as its owner. Silon announced this to be Duke Tomais of Vangaris.
Corin hardly noticed him. Instead he was looking at the woman beside the duke.
The Lady Shallan.
No longer wild-eyed and rigid. Rather she appeared regal and stern, her expression haughty, as if she didn’t want to be here. Corin’s gaze soaked up every inch of her. The long autumn tresses, those blue/grey witchy eyes. That oval face and pert nose, full lips and elusive smile. She caught his gaze and nodded slightly. Corin grinned at her and she turned away, irritation showing in her eyes..
Beside him, Barin muttered something obscene under his breath. Ariane’s foot struck savagely out at the Northman, but her eyes were focused on Corin, currently staring stupidly at her cousin from Morwella.
Ariane had expected this. Shallan invariably brought out the worst in men. Even experienced courtiers got flustered by her pale beauty. And Corin wasn’t remotely subtle. Ariane wished she had something hard to hit him with. Instead she kicked Barin again, who was chuckling in Corin’s ear.
Ariane had seen her cousin last night but they hadn’t spoken, though the Morwellan had smiled at her. As always Ariane felt second best. She studied her childhood rival with a critical slantwise glance. She looked a dream, did Shallan. That cascade of glossy chestnut, those perceptive dreamy eyes, the bluish grey of northern seas. Her features serene perfection with a dusting of freckles and high cheekbones, not to mention those full red lips.
Her cousin’s body was all curves, the skin ivory pale beneath the silky blue dress that so lovingly caressed it. Between her breasts gleamed a chunk of amber carved in the shape of a bear and supported by a heavy chain of gold. Chain and pendant sparkled in unison as Shallan smiled politely at something Silon said. She seemed unaware of the eyes watching her, but Ariane knew her better than that.
Shallan was a consummate actress who knew well how to play to the crowd. As a girl she had been moody, evasive and capricious, whereas Ariane had been straightforward and blunt. It was part of the reason why Ariane had always disliked her back then.
When her cousin spoke it was always in measured tones. Shallan was clever, a thinker, her voice soft but compelling. Some three or four year older than Ariane, but as young girls they had known each other well. The Morwellan beauty was taller than the princess by a head.
Ariane forced a frosty smile at the Morwellan before darting daggers at Corin. She hated the fact that she loved him so much. It was intolerable. But what right had she to complain? Corin was a free agent. She had thrown away any chance they had by pledging herself to Sensuata. Since then she had acted cold towards him. Not that there had been any choice. But that didn’t help her now. Shallan and Corin, the thought of that made her want to scream. Ariane quelled her wrath. She determined henceforth to ignore Corin, Barin and her cousin. They were here to discuss business after all.
***
Shallan had never understood why her cousin so disliked her. She had always tried to be friends with Ariane, but they just hadn’t got on and her royal cousin’s sharp glances announced nothing had changed. Not that that mattered to her at this moment.
Shallan was exhausted in body and mind. Worn down by their arduous journey, the Groil attacks, and her constant worrying over her father’s health and state of mind. She masked those worries well and smiled politely as she was introduced to those present at the table.
She and her father had arrived at Vioyamis two nights ago. Both shattered, their horses limping and their food supplies clear out. The duke had almost fallen from his saddle, his relief and weariness combining to drain the last of his reserve. Silon, considerate as ever, had seen to Tomais’s needs at once, allowing the duke to retire early that night. He and Shallan had stayed up discussing the situation back in Morwella. The duke had rallied a bit since then, rest and comfort helping him to mend.
At least the last part of their flight had proved uneventful. They’d reached Kelwyn, stopped briefly at the Silver City without announcing their presence. They had stayed in a quiet inn, bought new mounts and, after brief respite, rode south for Raleen.
Shallan had been so relieved when they arrived here. That had changed this morning when the dog-things attacked. Had they followed them from the north? Surely not?
Shallan had woken early. Some alien instinct compelling her to dress quickly and venture outside with the horn clutched in her pale palms. She hadn’t been surprised when she saw the Groil emerging snarling from the mist. Almost she had expected them. As before, Shallan had blown three times and they had fallen clawing at her feet. The Horned Man’s gift had saved them a second time. That horn was her only comfort in a maelstrom of troubled confusion.
Shallan smiled politely as the droll Tamersane whispered blatant compliments across the table. Shallan knew Tamersane of old and he hadn’t changed. She liked him despite his easy manner. Tamersane acted shallow and glib but it was all a façade. He was sharper than most and ever a sunny companion—not like the queen, his second cousin, (they shared a grand-uncle apparently).
Shallan listened mostly to her father and Silon. She ignored Barin and Corin, who were evidently coarse fighting men. She had come across that type before and held little regard for them. And the man Corin reminded her of Hagan Delmorier, the infamous outlaw and brigand. Though this Corin had kinder eyes. She’d noticed him gawping at her and wondered if he was soft in the head. Then Shallan noticed how Ariane’s gaze often fell on him. Suddenly she was interested.
***
Before the council commenced they ate a splendid lunch comprising of three courses amid light discussion and general banter. Lord Belmarius, after hearing Silon’s introduction, gruffly asked Corin why he had left Lord Halfdan’s Wolves. He hardly listened to Corin’s reply.
After the meal, Corin scanned the table, his fingers fidgeting whilst he waited for his glass to be filled. As ever Silon’s servants were skimping on the wine. That merchant hadn’t got rich by giving things away.
Barin looked at his empty glass with a bleak expression. “What are we waiting for?” he complained to Corin.
Corin shrugged. “After dinner speech?”
Just then, Silon stood up. He cleared his throat, was about to speak when there erupted a loud kafuffle from somewhere outside. Dogs barked and whined, and voices shouted in alarm. Corin wondered if the Groil had come back. He was getting decidedly weary of the Groil. Silon seemed excited.
“Please excuse me a moment,” the merchant waved a hand apologetically. “I believe our final guest has arrived. He had some prior business to attend to and warned he might be late. Hence we ate without him.” Silon wiped his tanned face with a silk kerchief and vacated the room. He returned minutes later with his mystery guest.
Zallerak.
Corin scowled at the bard, whilst Shallan, her father and the dour Permian all looked puzzled by the appearance of this very tall, wild-eyed newcomer.
Zallerak took his place at table to the left of General Belmarius. He smiled at the general who for his part looked baffled and annoyed.
“He’s a bard,” Corin whispered in Belmarius’s ear as if that explained everything.
Zallerak looked resplendent. Even Corin was impressed by the long flowing shirt of marvellous hue that shimmered from colour to colour as he shifted. The bard’s long silvery gold hair was combed back and held in place by a pale circlet of dazzling crystal. He gave Corin an ironic smile before nodding to the queen an
d (after Silon’s introduction) the duke and his daughter too.
“At last we can start.” Silon spread his hands wide. “My Queen, Lord and Lady, Sir Zallerak the Bard, Lord General and you others, my friends. I bid you all welcome to this council. Many of you have arrived here through great perils, seeking answers. A bold strategy against the wave of evil descending on the Four Kingdoms.
“This world Ansu is in dire need. The Urgolais necromancers have returned, we were visited by one this very morning and his Groil creatures. We need to act while we still can. Time is short.”
Silon paused to beckon a servant to bring more wine before resuming in heavy tones.
“Kelthaine has fallen into darkness,” he said. “Caught in the web of Caswallon and those he serves. Only Car Carranis and Point Keep remain free of the usurper’s claws. And they cannot hold out forever. General Perani, Caswallon’s new sheriff, has crushed all opposition in Kella. Next he’ll turn on Kelthara where a few brave stalwarts still hold out. Those poor souls have no chance.”
“But what happens next? Caswallon has a large army growing by the day. Not only an army of men, but rather a force of Groil and worse things. They will come south soon. That is inevitable.”
“My Bears wait at the river, vigilant as ever!” snapped Belmarius. “We cannot fight both Permio and Caswallon. What of Halfdan? Where are the Wolves? Not all were butchered during the coup.”
“Alas, I fear it is time for our news.”
It was Duke Tomais who had spoken. His quiet voice weighed down with woe.
“A messenger arrived in Vangaris three days before we departed from the city. He was mortally wounded; he’d been waylaid by mercenaries who fight alongside the barbarians of Leeth.
“Before he died he told us that Point Keep had fallen to Leeth, and these invaders now threatened Car Carranis. He said Halfdan was dead. And that Lord Perani had sent him our way with the promise of aid. We now know that to be a false promise from a false general.