Princess Koren trailed along behind the coffin and had sworn to wear the veil and ashes until she had avenged her brother herself. Elam had forbidden it. One month only, he commanded. Vengeance was well and good, but he didn’t want his daughter mourning her life away. The royal family had to be strong. She had to be strong.
Elam knew Koren had interrogated over a dozen captured wood elves without finding any useful information about Haldrin’s killer. In her rampage, six human travelers had also been tortured to no avail. Finally, she’d turned her instruments on the guards at either end of the old road. Each was first shown the human corpses and then questioned to make sure none had escaped. Two of the guards on the western bridge remembered a tall miner riding a tan horse who had passed through, but who wasn’t among the bodies. Those on the east bridge couldn’t remember seeing anyone fitting that description crossing into Galena.
Koren had left no survivors.
The final ceremony was held at the royal tombs on a small hill just near the city’s heart. Low shrubs and manicured grasses ringed the hill, and rare enchanted trees with their purple and gold leaves stood tall on the summit, looking down with sorrow on the tombs and ceremony below.
The tombs themselves were almost empty. When his people had first arrived in the valley Elam had them built as an exact replica of those in their ancient homeland, and the Golden hadn’t yet been in the valley long enough to fill them. Elam’s father, Ulric, and Elam’s wife, Verna, were the tomb’s only occupants. Now, his second child would join them.
Fathers shouldn’t bury their sons.
The thirty members of the Council of Nobles joined the procession at the hill’s peak. They had decreed a week of national mourning in honor of Haldrin. Councilor Alpere, the prince’s former tutor, led those gathered in a solemn prayer. A trickle of tears rolled down the old elf’s lined face as the caretakers sealed the thick marble doors. Haldrin had been Alpere’s favorite student, Elam knew.
Elam bowed and thanked the council for attending. He loathed the old men, meddlers all, but the Golden had always had such a council, and he was unwilling to break with tradition.
Immediately after the ceremony, the royal family gathered in their private chambers. High Mage Blythe joined them, prepared to advise on any arcane means of finding Haldrin’s killer, and Gashan, now head of the royal guards, had also been ordered to appear.
“The wood elves we found knew nothing of the murder,” Elam said, shaking his head in disgust. He watched Koren sitting on a nearby chair, staring into the fireplace and studying the flames as they ate away at the oak logs. My little huntress, the king thought fondly despite the weight of the day’s grief.
“We doubled our patrols with help from the army, and have since added guards on each member of the royal family, in case this is a plot against the crown,” Gashan said. Elam noticed how the guardsman’s eyes shifted, watching Koren as he spoke. He weighed each word cautiously. He remembered well the circumstances of his quick promotion, Elam knew, and seeing what was left after she had tortured all those men, elves and human alike, only reinforced that lesson. Not for the first time, Elam wished his daughter had been born an oldest son instead. What a king she would have made.
“The wood elves have hidden themselves well. We’ll be lucky to catch another one to question,” Prince Gallad said. Elam’s anger stirred anew, remembering that Haldrin had died while hunting Gallad’s bastard child. Gallad’s sin had cost Elam his youngest son.
“My diviners and I have searched the scene of our fallen prince’s murder and found nothing to direct us to an answer. If we had but a single item from the killer, we could easily track him,” Blythe added.
“Even if the assassin was masked by wood elf spells?” Elam asked. He knew well the likely answer. He’d heard it often enough. Every time he had wanted to seek out the skulking wood elves. The mage licked his lips and paused, taking time to choose his words carefully before answering.
“As your majesty knows, wood elves, with their pitiful natural powers, can never defeat one of our fully trained mages,” Blythe said with obvious pride. “However they are…adept at hiding in their forests.”
“Father, now that I have driven the pathetic orcs back into their mountains, allow me to hunt the forests. For far too long we have suffered the wood elves’ existence and now is the time to finally rid ourselves of them.” Gallad said. “All here know it was some pack of cowardly wood elves that struck down my brother. No mere human could best him. For years they have conspired against us, and are fit for nothing more than slaves. I can take the army and a few of Blythe’s mages. We will purge our lands of the skulking trash.”
Elam’s pounded on the table before him with an armored gauntlet. He wished for nothing more than to send every available warrior and mage under his command after his son’s killer, but there were other pressing concerns to attend to. The running of his kingdom would not grind to a halt for grief and revenge, much as it should.
“No. Not until we can discover more about Haldrin’s murderer. Other matters now demand our attention. This human army, the one Galena has hired to protect their shipment, sets out in the next few days. We must settle on what course to take regarding it. If the gold gets through we will be swarmed with thousands more of the dirt diggers. While the fares for their passage would boost our treasury, we would watch Galena’s numbers swell to dangerous levels. The miners would outnumber us eventually, and could then pose a long-term problem, one more serious than the orcs. And the humans would never agree to our proposal to use our mages for transporting their gold.
“On the other hand, if this shipment—the largest yet, they say—falls to the green-skinned brutes, mining might die out completely in Galena and we would lose all the fares from those passing through our kingdom. If the orcs manage to get that much gold, the incursions we have seen thus far would be nothing compared to what they could unleash with so much wealth.”
“The orcs will never defeat us, father,” Gallad said. “They are dumb as beasts in the field. I led our army to victory less than a week ago and shattered them. I will do so again.”
“Your victory, your ‘shattering’ of the orcs, cost you a quarter of your men,” Elam spat. “We cannot replace our losses as quickly as the orcs can replace theirs. And what of their war leader? This One Eye? Where is he?”
“He is a coward and a brute, just like the rest. He fled at the first signs of battle. Stories about some intelligent orc who plans their raids are just that. Stories, meant to frighten little children.”
“You lost a lot of troops to a mere story, brother. A story that, by your own admission, escaped you,” said Koren, looking up from the fire. “Perhaps Haldrin would have been a better choice to lead the army. Perhaps he would have captured this One Eye. Instead, he was off cleaning up your mess with that bastard child of yours.” She went back to staring into the fire, not bothering to look at the rest of the group.
Gallad’s fists clinched. The prince glared at the back of Koren’s blond head and, while she had barely moved, Elam knew her too well to believe she wasn’t prepared for an attack. Probably hoping for one. Looking for any excuse to turn her deadly daggers on Gallad. She blamed him for Haldrin’s death, Elam was certain of it.
“Haldrin’s pride cost him his life. If he had taken a group of hunters with him for protection he would still be alive. He lost his life because of his own foolishness, not Gallad’s,” Elam said.
Koren twisted around after he spoke, white-hot fury raging in her pale blue eyes. Elam stared into them, trying to decide if she was foolish enough to attack him. He gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw if she moved even slightly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gashan doing the same. The guardsman’s first duty was to the king’s safety, even against another member of the royal family. After several long seconds, Koren smiled and then turned back once more to watch the hearth’s dancing flames.
“Gallad,” Elam said with a sigh, “you need to accep
t responsibility for your mistake. The child is your problem, and you need to deal with it. For now, though, what of this One Eye? Is he real or not?”
“He is real,” Blythe volunteered. “At least there was a war leader with only one eye. I saw him lead the orcs when they charged our lines.”
Gallad turned a hateful stare at the mage. “Lies, father. This coward was never clos—”
“Silence,” Elam said. He held up an open palm toward his son. “I would hear more of him, Blythe.”
“He led the attack on our lines, and the orcs fought with a measure of discipline. Instead of simply rushing in and smashing into us, they held to a formation. When Gallad sent his reserves against their flank, the orcs hit us with several volleys from hidden archers nearby. Then this One Eye waved a black banner overhead and those hidden troops swept down, crashing into our reserve forces. Only the timely intervention of the mages held the orcs in check. We threw wave after wave of lightning at them, driving them into retreat.”
“They did break, then?” Elam asked.
Blythe’s lips were a stern line. “No, Sire, they did not break. Their commander held them together in an organized retreat. Our forces didn’t pursue them, as night was approaching. By morning they had already crossed the Wessen and retreated back into their own lands.”
“Father,” Gallad started, “you must not listen to the—”
“No,” Elam said, cutting his son short once more. “What I have just heard concerns me deeply. What were the orc losses?”
“I would estimate they lost just over half their warriors. They may be organized, but our mastery of the arcane still gives us a significant advantage over them,” Blythe said.
“Gallad, tomorrow you will begin plans for more defenses along the border. I want a chain of watchtowers every fifteen miles to detect and repel the orcs. Each should house at least a squadron of mounted soldiers. Blythe will also provide a pair of his mages in each,” Elam commanded.
“Father,” Gallad said, persistent, “the orcs will not return, their losses were too great. If you allow me to take an army into the mountains, I will drive them out. I swear this One Eye will dangle from a pike atop Mirr’s gates.”
“Not now. We must make a decision regarding this gold shipment first,” Elam said.
“Are the orcs the only ones who could take the humans’ gold?” Koren asked from the fireside.
All eyes turned to her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Priestess Shyla wasn’t pleased.
Dain sensed the waves of anger pulsing from the short, sour-faced woman. Over the past few hours he’d learned she didn’t care for horses, riding, dirty mines, or even dirtier miners. She had voiced her opinion on each of those subjects multiple times. He was certain she didn’t like babysitters, either. After five weeks of working at the hospital, Verdant had finally sent them out to one of the mines together. Dain had already escorted the hospital’s other priestess without serious incident, but Shyla was proving a different story.
“No one would dare harm me,” she’d said, right after they had set off.
“Of course not, Priestess,” he had replied amicably. “Priest Verdant just wants extra precautions to protect someone of your…importance. While I’m sure none of the miners would harm you, there are those orcs about. And they don’t share our sensibilities.”
“Nasty orcs. Packs of uncivilized heathens. Barely intelligent enough to communicate with each other in their grunt language. Priest Verdant should have sent more than you with me, then. What could you possibly do if we were attacked? Maybe you could slow them down long enough for me to escape on this wretched animal before they kill you.”
“Yes, Priestess, I’m sure that’s exactly what he had in mind,” Dain had responded, hiding his smile.
He considered goading Boon into biting her horse and sending the plump little woman for a real ride, but instead decided to play deaf and dumb. This, of course, hadn’t stopped her from complaining, but he could tell it pulled a some fuel from her bad-tempered fire. If he had known Verdant would saddle him with such a complainer he would have demanded five silvers a day. He wasn’t sure that he hadn’t been hired just to get her away from the hospital to give everyone a respite.
Judging by her graying hair and the deep frown lines on her round face, Dain had estimated her age at fifty or more, but he’d been thrown off a bit when she commented on serving the Light for only ten years. He’d asked his one and only question of her then, inquiring how old she was when she’d joined the order.
“Twenty-three,” she’d responded. Dain was fortunate to have been riding slightly behind her at the time, so she couldn’t see his surprise. Maybe a poor disposition aged a person as much as father time did.
The pair were a good twenty miles outside of Galena when they crossed a shallow creekbed and began climbing the slope toward the valley’s easternmost mine, the Lucky Seven. According to Verdant, the winding trail ended right at the mine’s doorstep.
The area was barren save for the hardy sagebrush and a few skeletal cottonwoods lining the creek. Here and there basalt boulders, mottled brown and bigger than wagons, sat on the valley floor like tiny islands in a vast ocean of faded gray sage. The mountains surrounding the valley pinched close together here with their jagged, snow-covered peaks. Below the desolate peaks, but still a thousand feet above the valley floor, a narrow band of junipers rimmed the heights. All day the gray, overcast sky had threatened to snow, but the stubborn flakes refused to fall.
He and the priestess soon spotted their destination. Dain studied it as they approached.
On the surface, the mine covered no more than five acres. A solid rock wall surrounded the front with two high guard towers overlooking the area. At the back of the mine, where the wall ended, the mountainside was almost perfectly vertical. Two long, wooden buildings with slate rooftops sat on one side of the walled-in area, providing housing for the miners. Smoke rose from a smithy in the back, and a small two-story building sat in the center, the only structure made of the same stone as the outer wall. The first floor didn’t appear to have any windows, and the only visible door was up a flight of stairs on the second level.
Next to the two-story squatted a wooden structure built into the steep mountain slope itself. From its black maw a pair of thick overhead cables stretched out to the nearest guard tower then off to a pole far outside the stone wall. Along the cable at regular intervals hung a series of large iron buckets, which appeared out of the maw. The cable brought them up around the guard tower then down to the pole, and a pair of miners dumped each onto an enormous pile of rubble. The empty buckets then pivoted around the pole on a large pulley, journeying back toward the mineshaft.
A pair of armed guards, each bearing a heavy pike, met Dain and Shyla at the fortified gate and asked their business.
“We are here on orders from Priest Verdant. This is Priestess Shyla, and I’m her guard,” Dain said. Inwardly he cringed at even being associated with the unpleasant woman, but work was work, and he had resolved not to lose sight of his manners just because his companion had clearly taken leave of her own.
“Drogan said to expect you,” said one of the guards. “Louk, get this gate open for the Priestess.”
At his command, Dain heard the slow, dragging slide of a heavy crossbeam followed by the sharp click of an iron bolt. The gate swung out on a pair of concealed hinges, leaving a passageway just wide enough to admit a riding horseman.
“Check in at the main office and see the boss. It’s the stone building next to the mine shaft,” the guard said.
Once they reached the office, Dain dismounted quickly then tied Boon to the hitching rail in front. He didn’t bother to help Shyla dismount, his job was to protect her, not to be her servant. He climbed the dozen steps to the doorway. His first knock on the heavy iron door produced footsteps from within, and a narrow, metal hatch slid open at eye level.
“Business?” a voice echoed from inside.
&
nbsp; “Priestess Shyla and her guard, here on orders from Priest Verdant,” Dain said.
The hatch closed; he heard the sound of a heavy timber being drawn aside. This time, he heard the snap of two iron bolts clicking open. The door swung out toward him and a heavy-set fellow wearing a faded-blue wool cap greeted him. The man’s shoulders were wide, wider even than Dain’s, and his forearms were thick with muscle. Curls of bright red hair matching the man’s bushy beard extended below his cap.
“Drogan Baylest. I run the Lucky Seven,” the man said as he shook Dain’s hand. His calloused grip was powerful, like a blacksmith’s vise.
“Dain, Verdant’s guard for the priestess.”
“Well met, Dain, and welcome to you, Priestess Shyla, as well. Won’t you both come inside?” He stood to the side and bowed.
Shyla had finally managed to dismount and, from the bottom of the stairs, she glared up at them. Dain could tell by her first awkward step that the priestess was sore from the ride and didn’t relish the idea of those stairs. Baylest tapped his boot while waiting. Shyla shot him a withering glare that could have leveled the mountaintops off. The miner got the message and turned inside while Dain waited to let the priestess enter first. He hoped Drogan didn’t need any healing himself because he certainly wouldn’t be getting any from her.
After reaching the top, Shyla paused for a moment, and then collected herself before crossing the threshold in a manner that would have made the proudest queen blush. Dain paused. He counted a full ten seconds, then reluctantly followed her inside.
Baylest had taken a seat behind a massive tan desk and leaned toward the priestess, making hand gestures as he spoke. The mine owner removed the dirty cap and ran his fingers through the curls of his red hair.
For her part, Shyla had perched herself on a plain chair, sitting with her back stiff and straight. Her hands were folded across her lap. Dain crossed the room to a large bookshelf, its wood matching the desk, and began browsing the titles he found there. He barely heard their conversation as he studied Drogan’s impressive book collection.
Kingdom's Forge: Book 01 - Paladin's Redemption Page 6