by Susan Faw
His scouts patrolled ahead and behind the large body of men, now making its way south. Every few minutes, a rider would approach the band, sometimes in groups of twos and threes. More often than not, they also wore the King’s Guard uniform. It seemed word was spreading of Ryder’s band and the young prince they followed.
They kept moving, stopping for brief periods to sleep but for no longer than six hours at a time. They passed by smaller villages and towns, but they did not pause. Ryder sent teams of men into the towns to purchase supplies as they went. The gold they had brought from Ziona’s cave gave them the funds they needed, however as their ranks grew, Ryder became more and more concerned about conserving their funds.
By the time they were two days distant from Devonshire, their numbers had doubled again, as more and more former King’s Guard joined their ranks.
The annoying itch that had begun between Ryder’s shoulder blades as they fled from the Charun grew worse, the closer they came to the capital city of Cathair.
On the third day, they reached the town of Pert Soaidh, which in the ancient tongue translated into “The Wooded Place of Heroes.” Ryder gazed around in open interest as they approached the fringes of the town. It appeared to have been swallowed by a dense forest. There was only one road, split by the town, so that the one on which they travelled lead in from the north and formed again on the far side, departing to the south.
The town boasted the first true fortifications Ryder had seen. The wooden palisade surrounding the town was located on top of a steep-sided earthen mound that rose from a water-filled moat. A wooden drawbridge flanked by guard towers with archery slits adorned both entrance and exit. The middle of the town was split by a river flowing on its east-west axis.
This town would be able to withstand a siege, Ryder noted, as he rode through the gates and into the town proper. His men followed, arranged in precise units, trotted along behind him. No one challenged their entry.
The town was the largest they had seen so far. Wooden houses and shops lined the walls and dirt road, which curved to the right and followed the basic line of the palisade. Streets intersected the curving road like spokes of a wheel within a wheel. The spokes did not run straight to the center of the town but rather they were offset on the next wheel.
There was no straight line to the center of the town, which Ryder identified by a flag flying on top of the tallest structure. The ring roads of the wagon wheel offered the most direct approach. Ryder felt dizzy and confined within the curving streets.
The cobblestone was busy but not overly full, considering it was midday. Tall palisades cast deep shadows on the street below, creating a semi-permanent twilight. Shadows blurred the outlines of the buildings they passed. Ryder thought the design was brilliant; an invading force would be fighting in twilight conditions even in the full light of day, while the residents eyes were accustom to the gloom.
Indeed, as they rode past, they belatedly noticed the armed men watching them from the shadowed alleys between buildings. The itch between Ryder’s shoulder blades grew.
As they rounded the curve on the far end of town, their way was blocked by row on row of armoured soldiers, pikes lowered to the oncoming horsemen. Archers stepped to the edge of the two-story buildings above, surrounding them, aiming down on their position. The shadowy figures from the alleys stepped forward. The rear of their procession closed with an equal number of pikes.
Ryder’s men drew their swords, steel ringing as they slid them out of scabbards.
Ryder raised his arm signalling a halt and to hold position.
Ryder did not want to trigger a confrontation in the middle of the town. He nudged his horse in the ribs making it walk forward toward the waiting pikes.
“Who here speaks for you men?” He spoke loudly to the men gazing around. “I would speak to your captain.”
The men remained in position, pikes lowered. Someone coughed in the group. A voice called from the side and a tall balding man, dressed in a red and blue tunic stepped forward. His blue pants were tucked into tall boots that clicked on the cobblestones as he walked forward. A large feather bobbed on the ornate hat he wore. He did not carry any weapons visible to Ryder.
“I do be the magistrate of this fair town,” he announced in a bored voice, “and I do be afraid you intend to pass through without paying the customary levy for the use of our fine streets.”
Ryder dismounted and approached the man on foot. “I apologize on behalf of myself and my men for the intrusion. We were unaware a toll had been set for the use of this road. If you could advise the appropriate fee, we will pay it and be on our way.”
The magistrate looked Ryder up and down, taking in his dusty country garb. The corners of his mouth turned down in disgust. He ignored Ryder and addressed the eldest of the captains leading the team behind Ryder. “You, good sir, look to be a man of means, please instruct your servant here to remain silent in the presence of a lord.”
The King’s Guard, a man by the name of Lazaro, rode up beside Ryder. He removed his hat and bowed from the saddle. “You are mistaken, my lord. Sir Ryder is the lord of this band and it is to him you will answer.”
The magistrate’s eyes widened and his gaze swung back to Ryder. He bowed a short bow that was nearly an insult, for one of equal rank. “My apologies, my lord, I did not realize.” He stepped back and gazed around at the tense soldiers on both sides. “Please, allow me to make up for my error. Let us talk over refreshments.” He waved his hand and the pikes lowered. The archers eased back on their bows and relaxed.
Ryder nodded to Lazaro, who selected an honour guard for Ryder. Darius accompanied Lazaro and two other men. Laurista rounded out the group.
“Your men are to continue through town and may make use of the wagon staging grounds outside the palisade wall to the south. They will wait for you there.”
The pike men separated and formed a gauntlet of steel down which The Band of the Rebel’s Land continued to march.
Ryder followed the magistrate who was walking with his own contingent of guards toward a full log building set against an inner palisade wall. It was a two-story structure, the windows fitted with metal bars on the main floor. Stone steps rose to a set of carved double doors, which were opened at their approach by two ceremonial guards, dressed as flamboyantly as the magistrate.
The interior was lit by lamps hung from ornate metal arms, which were attached to the walls at even intervals. Long raised benches lined the back wall and a plain door was visible behind them. Smaller tables and chairs were scattered throughout the balance of the room with doors leading to other rooms on the side. Books lined the walls, their shelves reaching close to ceiling height. Between the doors, hung on the wall was an assortment of portraits of Queen Alcina. Ryder stared at the portraits as they passed.
“You admire my portraits of the queen? She graced me with her presence when she first came to the throne and privileged me with the opportunity to paint Her Grace. She was pleased to find that, as Pert is strategically placed on the road to the capital, her inhabitants are loyal to the throne.” His lips curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes.
We have wandered into the mouth of the lion, thought Ryder. Somehow I do not believe he intends for us to pass through his town.
The magistrate led them through the end side door and into a room comfortably arranged with overstuffed couches that flanked a cold stone fireplace. Tall windows let in a gloomy light that passed for daylight in the shadow of the palisade wall.
“Please, gentlemen, lady, have a seat. I will call for refreshments.”
The magistrate pulled on a silk cord and Ryder heard a bell ring in another room.
A maid dressed in blue livery entered and curtsied. “Please bring tea and scones for our guests, Sharona.” She curtsied again and left the room.
“Let me introduce myself. My name is Samuel de Champagne and I am the magistrate and high official of this town.” He gestured around at his surroundings. “
This building is the courthouse and also houses the trade and taxation departments. Handy if someone do be trying to skip their duties. If they cannot pay their taxes, it do be but a short walk to their cell.” He chuckled at the assembled men, who had not yet seated themselves.
“Please, please sit. We have things to discuss.” He seated himself in a plush armchair. His guard took up position behind his back, watching the room and its occupants.
Ryder sat in a stiff-backed chair that allowed him free movement. The itch between his shoulders had not left with the disappearance of the town’s soldiers. Laurista seated herself in a couch to his left and his escort arranged themselves similarly behind Ryder.
The maid re-entered and placed a tray with cups, teapot, and a plate of scones on a low table by the fireplace. She filled a cup of tea from the teapot and brought it over to Samuel, who took a sip of the brew. She did not serve the others.
“Come, help yourselves to tea.” No one moved.
Ryder spoke for the first time. “We do not plan to linger in your town, my Lord Champagne. We intended to pass through on our way south. If you would advise the amount of the tariff, we will be on our way.”
He sipped at his tea, considering eyes flicking over the audience in front of him. He set his cup down on the carved table beside his chair.
“Well, first I need to know the purpose of your journey. There are many different levies, depending on the purpose of passing through. For instance, if you are a merchant, moving wool to the looms of the coast, the appropriate levy may be a percentage of what trade you take away from the local wool farmers. If you are a trader in rare metals and coin, perhaps the appropriate levy is a donation to the fund of the poor as you are leaving nothing of value behind for my people.
“The law do be very broad in these areas, you see…and flexible to meet the need.” He waved his hand at the books on the other side of the wall. “Our lawmakers have been very meticulous at recording every passerby and the levy imposed in order to keep the assessments fair. However, we have never had an army decide to ride through. They do normally take a route to bypass our fair town.” He once again scrutinized the group. “Yes, indeed, you will make for a very interesting test case, I believe.” He picked up his tea again, sipping it.
Ryder frowned at the floor, thinking. The magistrate demanded a levy yet he could not advise what was appropriate. Surely they were not the only travellers to pass through the town? Not all could be merchants. So how did they assess the levy against a single traveller or a family? Ryder shifted in his chair, wishing momentarily that he had chosen a softer one.
“We have nothing to trade. We are purchasing supplies as we travel. What would you have us give you?”
“Well you have hit the hammer right on the head, haven’t you? You do be passing through and do be taking the supplies of the local farmers. You may even pay for them. If it had not been so, I am sure I would have heard of your band long before now.
“However, merely paying the farmer does not compensate this town for the use of the roads we maintain, so you can reach the farmer in the first place. It does not pay for the protection we give the farmer from bandits…or even rogue armies,” he said with a languid smile that did not reach his eyes.
Laurista abruptly stood up and walked over to the cooling tea tray, pouring herself a cup of tea. She met Ryder’s eyes and blinked as she took a sip. The magistrate’s smile widened. She put it down and then brought Ryder a cup and returned to fetch hers.
She sat and sipped at her tea with Ryder doing likewise.
The magistrate froze, watching them intently. So the tea was poisoned, Laurista guessed. They continued to sip. Nothing happened.
The magistrate’s eyes widened in shock as the poison appeared to have no effect.
“My Lord Champagne, poisoned tea is a very old ruse. Surely your healers have developed a counteragent to this particular kind?” She continued to sip her tea, as Ryder did his. “Obviously, your cup is not poisoned. Ours, I suspect, most definitely are.”
“Perhaps”—Ryder pinned the magistrate with his hot glare—“we have found our levy.”
The magistrate assessed him with roving eyes. “I do believe we have, my boy…I do believe, indeed.”
Chapter 38
“HERE, PUT THE PRY BAR IN THIS WAY.” Nelson flipped the bar over and wedged it back into the side slot of the limestone block closer to the top. A gap had appeared where the paste had done its job. “Now, give it a good heave and keep working it in the crack, back and forth. Then, alternate with the other side of the rock like this.” Nelson handed the pry bar back to the Kingsman and stepped back out of the way.
They worked the pry bars, scraping aside mortar and wedging the steel under the lip of rock, shifting it by the tiniest of increments. The men had to take turns, working the block side by side, rocking it back and forth until a good three inches had been moved out from the face of the wall.
Suddenly, a tapping reply issued from the rock. Nelson flapped his arms, hushing the men. “Tap, tap…Tap, tap, tap…” went the message, repeating itself. Nelson listened intently. “Back…stand…back…,” he murmured, sounding the code out. Stand back?
A great crash filled the cavern as the block popped out of the hole like the plug out of a dam. The one-hundred-pound rock fell to the floor and tumbled a couple of times before coming to rest. The men leapt back to preserve their toes as it rumbled past, churning centuries old dust into the air.
Nelson waved his hand in front of his face, coughing, and squinted at the now sizeable hole. A man stared back at him, white hair and beard streaming past his shoulders.
Nelson moved closer to the hole. “Mordecai Ben-Moses, I presume?”
“Alas it is I, or that was what I was called when I was locked away in here seventeen years ago.”
“How did you do that?” Nelson said, peering at the old man as the dust from the collapse settled to the floor. He waved a hand to clear the lingering haze.
“Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that…some hocus pocus and there you have it.” He grinned at the bewildered expression on Nelson’s face. “Come, come surely the world has not forgotten about magic?” He tsked and shook his head sadly. “Magic surrounds us. All it needs is a disciplined mind, some focused intent and the will to see the thing through. This”—he held up his crystal—“also comes in useful.”
Nelson’s eyes squinted, more confused, not less.
Mordecai sighed. “I presume they did not announce my untimely death or any such thing in my absence? I would not relish having to explain how I am still alive when everyone who loved me has forgotten me and those who hated me are alive to hate me still.”
Nelson chuckled. “No, they did not announce your death, although I think most have forgotten you existed. They never announced your capture. You were never spoken of again. Most thought you had died, so I suppose it is the same thing.”
Mordecai chuckled softly. “Certainly, I can make use of being dead. Few souls have the opportunity to walk the land again in the same bodies that dressed them originally. I must admit, though, this cell has become quite wearisome in the intervening years. It is time I took up new residence elsewhere…but not quite yet. I am expecting a very important visitor shortly.”
Nelson frowned. “They allow you company?”
“Certainly not—I don’t exist, remember? No, this company will be dropped into my lap, quite literally, I believe.” One eye stared through the crack. “Keep enlarging this hole for I foresee a time in the near future when it will come in quite useful. But you must replace all the stones at the end of the day. I will disguise the work from my side.”
Nelson nodded. “I will bring Denzik to see you tomorrow. He’s the brains of this outfit.”
“Now, would you pass me one of those wonderful sticky buns I have smelled for the last hour? It’s been so long.” Mordecai sniffed the air in appreciation.
“I will never hear the end of it from Fabian,” Nelson g
rumbled, passing the bag of sticky buns through to the grizzled old wizard.
***
Fabian grunted. The steps were finally in place and the door facing him at eye level. He ran his hand down the stubble on his unshaven chin and grunted again. He still had no idea how to open it. The thick oak door’s hinges were covered in thick rust, proof positive of inactivity. He doubted if they had been opened since Captain O’Reilly and his men had taken up residence in the chamber. Fabian scratched his head, examining the problem.
Nelson must be close to getting through the block wall. Who would have thought he could chisel through a castle wall faster than I could assemble a staircase?
The lead carpenter squeezed past him, picking up his tools and dropping them into a tool belt strapped around his waist. Fabian grabbed his arm, halting him. “Tell me, how would you break open that door if it was up to you?”
The carpenter paused, glancing at the door. “You want to get into the next room?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, why don’t you have someone open it from the other side?”
“I don’t know if anyone is on the other side.”
“So, why don’t you get someone to go and open it for you?”
Fabian stared at him. The idea wasn’t as dumb as it sounded at first. “You do know who is on the other side?”
“Well, as this would be the prison section, I would assume some of the Queen’s Guard.”
“That is correct. Why would they help us?”
“They wouldn’t…but one of the serving staff might. They feed the prisoners on a regular basis, right? So they have access to the prisoner cells.” He headed down the stairs and back to the crew who were waiting below.
Fabian gazed after the man and then at the door again and laughed silently. It was time to arrange for a delivery of sweet buns to the castle. Nothing opens doors like the smell of food, and those sweet buns were a cinnamon-crusted golden key to the castle and to the corridors beyond.