Stolen Crown
Page 26
It was a ring she had not used for the past sixteen years.
• • •
“SHE IS PENNING A LETTER,” said Driu, lying abed.
“Mayhap there is a chance,” replied Dalavar, lying beside her.
“If so, they will need a guide,” said Driu.
“Indeed,” replied Dalavar.
• • •
THE BELLS OF CHALLERAIN Keep rang out on the morning of Reyer’s crowning, and when a curious crowd following the rumors of yester gathered before City Hall, Mayor Hein made his way out to the front steps and announced that Reyer had been crowned High King.
Later that day, as promised by Hein, Reyer and the Council rode into Market Square, where Reyer, nearly six feet tall and verging upon manhood, and with naught but a simple gold headband upon his brow, stood upon the back of a produce waggon and promised that he would serve as best he could. Eyes sharp, soldiers moved among the gathering, yet naught untoward happened. Instead, in recognition, all knelt before the newly crowned King, all but seven Warrows, that is.
After the ceremony, Gretta, at her stepson Durgan’s side, said, “I need you to deliver a letter.”
“Gladly, Mother Gretta. Where and to whom?”
“Jord.”
“Jord? The nation of Jord?”
“Yes. They must not remain neutral. They must come to Reyer’s aid.”
“But, Mother Gretta, I ride with Reyer.”
“You will, yet you must bring Jord with you.”
“Please, Mother Gretta, send someone else. I am no diplomat to persuade them to come.”
“Durgan, you have the only horse that can make the ride in time.”
“Steel, Mother? Steel?”
“Aye, Steel.”
“Send someone with remounts.”
“Even remounts cannot outrun and outlast Steel. I recall on the journey here you said Steel had not only the speed but also the endurance to make a journey such as I propose. And you have also been our herald and the one to bear our messages, and no message that you have ever borne is more vital than this.” Gretta thrust her night-penned letter toward Durgan. He looked at it a long moment, and then reluctantly accepted it.
“You have told me where I should go, Mother Gretta, but not who should get this letter.”
Gretta gave him a map and a set of instructions as well as the name of a person and where in Jord he would be found.
With Durgan now committed to delivering her letter, Gretta watched as Lord Cavin released a bird bearing a message to the Harbor Master in the city of Ander on the shores of the Boreal Sea.
• • •
GRETTA THEN WENT TO her quarters and unwrapped a long-held token. She sat and stared at it awhile, tears in her eyes. Then she rewrapped it and set out for Alric’s quarters. She tapped on his door, and when he answered she said, her voice quavering, “My son, you are heading to war. ’Tis meet you have this.” She thrust the silk-wrapped gift into his hands.
Alric looked at her in ’wilderment, then unfolded the cloth.
’Twas a black-oxen horn, ever borne into battle by Jordian warriors.
“Mother, I—”
Gretta embraced him, then, weeping, fled away.
• • •
THE VERY NEXT DAY under dark skies above, Reyer and a small host rode south and away from Challerain Keep.
With regret lurking deep in his eyes, Durgan watched the warband leave. Then he mounted up on Steel and said, “Hup, laddie buck, we’ve a long way to go and not much time. . . .” And he rode away to the north.
And high up on the castle-keep wall, in the chill blow Gretta pulled her cloak tighter ’round and wept, despair in her gaze to the south, hope in her gaze to the north.
41
Northward
Among the various messengers in Mithgar are King’s Heralds. They might come afoot or ahorse or in a coach or by ship or boat to deliver their messages from their liege lords to whomever that lord has sent the message. Generally speaking, a King’s Herald is a diplomat and should be treated accordingly, with food and shelter and protection from harm. It is not often that a King’s Herald is assaulted or even murdered out of hand, though such has been known to occur, generally to make a statement to the king who sent the message. No, most often, a King’s Herald delivers his liege’s word, and might or might not await a reply, depending upon his instructions.
Usually, King’s Heralds are given free room and board, and at times free passage, though some kings provide their heralds with coinage for token payments.
When Durgan set out from Challerain Keep, he had a modest purse to pay for goods and services, especially for Steel. . . .
• • •
LATE IN THE EVE of the third day after setting out, Durgan and Steel rode into Ander, Steel’s shod hooves clattering upon the cobblestones of that port city.
They were some two hundred sixty-five miles north of Challerain Keep, having covered the distance in but three days. Surely Steel was a horse beyond compare, yet Durgan’s words concerning the charger’s speed and endurance proved to be true.
They had traveled from dawn to dusk, and sometimes a short way into the night. And every eve, Durgan took care of Steel’s needs before his own. During the days he made certain the horse was well fed and well watered, and he varied the gait as well as walked to give Steel respite from any single pace.
The map that Gretta had given to Conal’s eldest had proved to be true, for Durgan had come to the streams marked thereon, and to the villages and hamlets along the way, where he resupplied his and Steel’s provisions, and traveled lightly, not being burdened with food and feed. He had followed the Trade Road north out of Challerain, passing through the Argent Hills in a cold drizzle midmorn the first day, and for the rest of that day and the next two he had ridden across rolling plains. Always on the road or along its verge in the rougher places, for that road led directly to Ander.
On the eve of the second day out, he camped with a small trade band of armed and armored Dwarves, heading crossland from west to east, for they were going toward Blackstone, their holt in the Rigga Mountains. They and their ponies just happened to be settled for the eve alongside Durgan’s route, and they welcomed him gruffly, for that is the manner of Dwarves. Yet they fed him well and provided pleasing company, and they thoughtfully stroked their braided forked beards and spoke of war and marveled at the distance Durgan had traveled in but two days. When Durgan suggested that they trade their ponies for horses, they shook their heads and fell silent, and Durgan wondered why such a redoubtable people, though they used horses to draw wains, would fear riding upon such beasts.
It was a mystery that perhaps one day would be resolved.
But that was yester, and on this night, Durgan made his way to the docks in the chill seaport town of Ander, there on the verge of the frigid Boreal Sea. He found the harbormaster, a white-haired, white-bearded old sea dog of a man, who told him that he was expected, and the Fjordlander Dragonship, Slagferdig, had been waiting, and would sail with him and his horse on the morning tide.
Durgan made arrangements for food and feed, and, after taking good care of his mount, that night Durgan slept in a warm bed, while Steel slept in a warm stall.
• • •
“JA, WE OFTEN TAKE horses with us on our, er, inland forays as well as our trade missions.”
Durgan nodded and glanced over at Steel, who stood in a simple pole stall on the deck in the wales of the Dragonship.
“And the ship’s name—Slagferdig—what does that mean in the common tongue, Captain Jarn?”
“‘Ready for Battle,’” replied Captain Jarn, who, like the other members of the crew, was tall and yellow-haired and blue-eyed. “It also means ‘Quick Witted,’ but we prefer ‘Ready for Battle.’ Though, since the truce with the Jutes, we haven’t seen much battle.”
Durgan, too, was dressed as the crew, Captain Jarn having lent him the warm garb, though it was somewhat overlarge on Durgan’s slight frame.
As for Steel, a heavy fleece blanket covered him, reaching down to his fetlocks.
In steep contrast to the wild tales told ’round warm tavern hearthstones, life aboard the Dragonship had proved to be rather humdrum, or so Durgan thought.
They relieved themselves over the sides as necessary, and Durgan did scoop up Steel’s droppings and heave them over as well.
Yet the winds were favorable—on the aft starboard quarter of the beam—and they had sailed in nearly a straight line across uneventful waters, no land in sight whatsoever, with only the sun and stars to guide them, though Captain Jarn now and again did use a device he called an astrolabe.
“If this keeps up,” said Captain Jarn, “we’ll make port in three days.”
On the eve of the second day out, distant land—just a smudge on the horizon—came into view.
Captain Jarn swung the ship to the port, making ready to pass them by.
“We’re not going to stop and take on water?” asked Durgan.
“’Tis the Seabanes, lad, and no good will come of landing on those dire shores.”
“Dire?”
“Aye, boy. See that bare top of a peak to the right and far far ahead, just now lit up by the setting sun? That be Dragons’ Roost, and the Seabanes be in their domain.”
“In the Dragons’ domain?”
“Aye, lad. And should ye be foolish enough to challenge them”—Jarn’s laughter roared across the waters—“then I pity the fool ye be.”
Moments later, Jarn grew serious. “There be a shift in the wind. Ah, Garlon, but Ruella toys with us; we’ll be tacking ’gainst her blow.”
Durgan frowned. “Garlon? I seem to recall—”
“He is the god of the sea,” said Jarn, “but she is the goddess of the winds.”
Sailing first this way then that, they slowly made their way past the Seabanes, first in the dark and then in the day, while low clouds gathered above, and now Jarn sailed by dead reckoning, though with the islands generally off their beam, his dead reckoning was not that much of a marvel.
But then Ruella began to smile and the wind shifted into a more favorable quarter, and the skies cleared above, and with only starlight on high, gleaming scintillant, in the wee hours of the third night at sea they cleared the last of Seabanes.
Durgan, who had risen to relieve himself over the starboard, asked Bjorki, second in command, “What is that green glow afar?”
“Shh . . .” whispered the mate, a finger to his lips. “Listen.”
In the distance, whence the glow lay, there came the faint sound of a low constant rumble.
“Thunder?” murmured Durgan.
“Nay, boy. ’Tis instead the fire and growl of the Great Maelstrom, both glow and grumble. Any ship caught in its drag be wrenched down into Hèl itself. Only the Longwyrm, with Captain Arik and Elgo and the men aboard, e’er escaped its dread suck.”
Durgan nodded, for even on Kell they had heard the tale of Sleeth and Elgo and the Curse of the Dragongield.
Bjorki sighed and said, “And in the Maelstrom itself, there be the monstrous Krakens, Dragons’ mates, they say.”
“And the green . . . ?”
“Spinning witch fire,” said Bjorki. “And cursed it be as well.”
Durgan stood for long moments, his gaze captured by the far-off glow. But finally he turned away and bedded down again, the plash of the Boreal against the clinker-built sides intermittently interrupting the faint and distant rumble of the monstrous churn.
• • •
LATE IN THE EVE of the fourth day at sea, the Slagferdig sailed into the port of Hafen. Taking care for Steel’s slender legs, Durgan offladed the steed. And that night they spent in the warm comfort of the Sea Horse Inn, Durgan in a soft bed, Steel in the adjoining stable.
The next morn Durgan set out for Jordkeep, and as he had done every morning, Durgan walked Steel for a while to warm up the steed for the day. Then he checked the saddle cinch and mounted up and set off for his goal lying six hundred miles away.
And they flew across the vast grassy plains of Jord, the gallant steed holding up for the long days of travel and gaining his needed rest at night. And Durgan found holdings with water and feed to spare, for this was a horse kingdom. They passed by herd after herd along the way, and here Durgan had to ride with a firm hand, often steering Steel wide and away from the mares and the occasional stallion.
And on the seventh day out from Hafen, and with six hundred miles lying behind him, Durgan espied in the distance ahead a broad splash of buildings lying across the green rolling plains: ’twas Jordholt, capital city of this realm, and therein should be the one who was to receive the letter he bore.
42
Southward
As the raven flies, it is some four hundred and thirty miles from Challerain Keep to the northern end of Gûnar Slot, there where the Allied Army would gather ere marching south and then east. And also as the raven flies, it is nine hundred and thirty miles from Challerain Keep to Jordkeep, the capital city of Jord.
Yet men are not birds, but must travel by other means: afoot, ahorse, by waggon or ship. And Reyer and his warband would ride altogether some six hundred and fifty miles from Challerain to the Slot, while Durgan and Steel would need altogether to cover some thirteen hundred miles to reach the capital of Jord—four hundred of those by sea.
And as each set out from Challerain Keep, reluctance in their hearts—Durgan, for he was not riding with Reyer, and Reyer for he was taking men to war—a cold wind swept down from the Boreal Sea, bearing dark clouds and drizzling rain.
And in Reyer’s company, Digby wondered . . .
• • •
“D’Y THINK THIS IS AN OMEN?”
“What?” asked Perry.
“I said, d’y think this is an omen?” replied Digby.
“I heard that,” said Perry. “What I meant is: what might be an omen?”
“Well,” said Digby, “an omen is a—”
“Blast it, Diggs, I know what an omen is. What I want to know is what did you see or hear that caused you to ask the question in the first place?”
“Oh,” said Digby. “Well, what I meant was this,” and he broadly gestured toward the grim sky and the drizzle falling ’round.
“You mean the rain?”
Digby nodded, and then added, “And the darkness.”
“Bah,” said Perry. “It’s just rain.”
“Yes, but it’s cold,” said Digby, slightly offended, “and here autumn hasn’t even come. Just how do you explain that, bucco?”
“It came down from the north,” said Perry.
Digby nodded. “And . . . ?”
“Well, if it’s an omen every time rain blows in from the north,” said Perry, “then, let’s see, I think we would have long ago succumbed to deep dark doom.”
Digby laughed.
And they rode the next few miles in comfortable silence, now and again smiling unto themselves.
• • •
THREE DAYS LATER, the warband reached the edge of the Battle Downs. Conal ordered the number of scouts doubled, and extra care be taken in seeking ambuscades and sign of Foul Folk.
And though both Digby and Perry would like to have joined Billy and Arlo and Captain Windlow on the scouting mission, still, hewing to their assignments, they stayed by Reyer’s side, just as Jame and Jace stayed with Driu.
No sign either of assassins or Spawn was found, and so they made camp nearby.
&
nbsp; That eve Conal posted extra sentries, mostly Dylvana, for their eyes and ears were sharper than those of Men.
’Round the campfire, Alric turned to Reyer and said, “Think you that Durgan will bring my folk, the Harlingar?”
“I know not,” said Reyer, “and I’d rather we not hold false hope.”
Alric nodded, but said naught, though his brow was knitted in puzzlement. Finally, he sighed and said, “Still . . .” and then lapsed into silence as Reyer nodded in unspoken agreement.
• • •
AND IN JORD, King Ulrik and his brother, Valder, said naught as well, each wrapped in his own thoughts about the upcoming conflict between an untested boy and a brutal veteran somewhere far away, each with a claim to the throne. In the past Jord had remained neutral in matters concerning squabbles between Royals in distant nations, but in this case they were not certain that neutrality was the wisest course. And many were the arguments that went first this way and then that. Still, they had little at stake in the outcome, though if Arkov tried to levy unwarranted taxes upon Jord, he would find a formidable foe in the Harlingar.
Of course, Arkov knew this, and he had made no such move in the nearly fourteen years since overthrowing Valen.
Having nothing at stake is a profound deterrent to entering any war.
• • •
REYER AND HIS WARBAND DECAMPED, and they traveled southward along the Post Road, Digby chattering about this and that, Perry snorting in skepticism at some of Digby’s claims, especially when Digby brought up the topic of Giants.
“Pah! Giants? You must be joshing, Diggs.”
“Oh, no, they are real, or so I believe. I mean, why would there be stories of them, if not based in truth?”
“They are eld dammen’s tales, Diggs. Told to keep their younglings in line. I mean, ‘Behave, else the Giants will grind up your bones for bread.’”
“Well, Perry, let me ask you this: would you call an Ogru a Giant? I mean, they’re ten, twelve feet tall. So, would you call them—?”