Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  Caldurian nodded as he paced about the room, briefly admiring a painting of the nearby countryside. “That’s one way to look at it. Yet more men from the Northern Isles will eventually pour onto your shores, and Vellan is most certainly going to march additional columns of Enâri this way, transforming Montavia into something you will not recognize.” He turned and faced King Rowan. “That is another way to look at it, sir. And if you were a realist, you would admit that that is Montavia’s fate. But deep in your heart, I think there’s a part of you that has already admitted it, that has accepted defeat. It’s just a matter of time until your mind accepts the same truth.”

  King Rowan grunted. “Your words may dishearten the souls of others, but I am not easily discouraged. Montavia has suffered a grave defeat, but my nation is not dead yet. Help will soon arrive–” A knock on the door interrupted him. Three individuals from the kitchens entered, carrying trays of food and a pitcher of cold milk for the King’s lunch. “–and arrive when least expected. No, Caldurian, the people of Montavia will not give up so easily! Word of this outrage will reach King Justin’s ear in Morrenwood and the resounding reply will crush you.” The King looked at Vilna who returned a steely, yet barely perceptible smile.

  “We shall see,” Caldurian said. “But at the first sign of any revolt, my response will be swift and deadly. Your garrison cells will be filled up with more than just your soldiers. That is why I am having the leaders of your largest villages brought here tomorrow. You will demand the cooperation of their communities on my behalf if you want to keep any semblance of peace in this realm. You will have only one chance.”

  After a long, hard think, King Rowan nodded. “I will talk with them and urge their cooperation, yet I cannot promise that a stray individual or other might not take matters into his own hands to protect this nation.”

  “I’ll deal with any unexpected outbursts as I must,” the wizard replied. “So make your royal words convincing, sir.”

  “I will try.”

  The King shot a glance at the kitchen help, an older woman with graying hair who seemed in charge, and two younger boys of about fifteen and seventeen who stood behind her on either side. All wore gray smocks over their clothes, splattered here and there with bits of dried grease and flour. The woman’s hair, limp from the ever present humidity rising from steaming kettles in the kitchen quarters, was covered with a yellow kerchief. The boys each wore a dark woven cap over their wavy brown hair.

  “Well, look alive and serve us lunch!” the King commanded with a clap of his hands, indicating for the two boys to set their trays on the desk. He raised an eyebrow when making eye contact with them while Vilna stood silently by the King’s side, her hand resting on his shoulder, slightly trembling.

  Swiftly the kitchen staff went to work ladling beef soup from a large tureen into three earthenware bowls. Fresh goat’s milk was poured into metal goblets and hot biscuits with butter were arranged on a plate. The woman respectfully handed King Rowan, Vilna and Caldurian a cloth napkin each, bowing slightly as she backed away, waiting for her two assistants to collect the serving dishes on the trays so they could depart.

  “Is there any other meal request before we leave?” the woman asked, not quite sure whether to address the wizard or the King.

  “That will be all, Martha,” Vilna kindly said, smiling at the woman. “You may leave now and clear the remaining dishes later.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, signaling for the two boys to follow her out with the trays.

  “Wait, boy!” King Rowan shouted as he set his spoon down after tasting the soup. He grabbed the glass vial of rasaweed from the desk and dropped it on one of the cluttered trays. “Toss that in the nearest rubbish pit,” he muttered. “I don’t care what the physician said, but I refuse to take any of his blasted sleeping medicine. I can’t have my senses dulled while Montavia is under siege. Now leave us to enjoy our lunch.”

  “Yes, sir,” the older boy politely replied with a bow.

  “And tell the kitchen not to leave the onions out of my soup next time,” he muttered with disgust. “They’re my favorite part.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” the boy replied apologetically before hurriedly following the others out the door.

  Caldurian chuckled as he walked to the desk to get his soup. “Kings never make the best patients, do they.”

  “Nor the best prisoners,” King Rowan replied, staring coolly at the wizard as he took a seat. “At least not this one.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Bread and Soup

  Martha returned to the busy kitchens several minutes later with the two boys. They weaved their way among the bread bakers and crockery washers to a quieter corner in the large, stone multi-chambered room. Bundles of dried herbs hanging upside down from the rafters pungently perfumed the air. Several brick ovens built into the walls glowed red with beds of hot embers while the constant chatter of workers added to the stifling heat.

  “Well, we did it,” Martha whispered to her two helpers as they cleaned off the trays, her hands shaking and her heart beating rapidly. “I was so nervous about bringing you with me, but as you insisted, who was I to argue? Anyway, it worked. You saw for yourself that your mother and grandfather are safe.”

  “For now,” the older boy said, glancing around the room. Though none of the enemy soldiers were keeping watch inside the kitchens, two Enâri guards patrolled the corridor outside. “Still, we have to do something!”

  “What you have to do is stay safe, Prince Brendan. That is your job now,” Martha whispered to the boy whom she thought acted older than his seventeen years. His sea blue eyes stared back at her, coolly burning under waves of brownish hair. “You and your brother must play the part of kitchen workers until this mess is settled. It’s what your mother requested of me.”

  Brendan sighed, grimacing at his younger brother, William. After the attack on Red Lodge at dawn, their mother had hurried to the kitchens with her sons to find Martha, one of the supervisors who often attended to her family’s meals. Vilna asked the woman to disguise the boys as kitchen workers for their safety, informing King Rowan about the deception minutes before he was first attacked.

  “But my brother and I can’t stay here and do nothing while Montavia is under siege,” Brendan insisted, pulling off his cap.

  “We’ll be safe in the kitchens,” William said, his large light brown eyes gazing up at his brother. Though he was equally frustrated, he didn’t have an alternate plan. “It’s what mother wanted us to do.”

  “But not grandfather.” Brendan grabbed the vial of rasaweed lying on the tray. “He was trying to tell me something when he insisted that I get rid of this vial of sleeping medicine. Grandfather never talks to anyone in that sharp tone of voice. And as he despises the taste of onions, why would he request them in his soup? That was just an act to get our attention, to urge us to do something. I saw it in his eyes.”

  “What was the King trying to tell you?” Martha asked.

  “He wants me to escape and get help somehow. Do you recall what he said to that wizard moments after he saw us enter the room? Word of this outrage will reach King Justin’s ear in Morrenwood. If that wasn’t a signal for us to act, then I don’t know what is.”

  “You can’t be serious?” Martha said, keeping her gesticulating hands in check so as not to draw the attention of others. She nervously adjusted the yellow kerchief on her head. “How would you ever get out of the compound? There are guards at every gate.”

  “We could hide in a supply wagon next time it leaves,” William suggested.

  “The guards are surely to search those both coming and going,” Brendan said, staring at the vial of rasaweed before looking up at Martha with a budding grin. “Martha, all the soldiers outdoors will probably take their meals in the garrison kitchens, correct?”

  “That’s right, gluttons that some of them are. We’ve been baking extra bread here to send over since there are fewer ovens in that building,” she
said. “They are terribly understaffed to handle this flood of hungry men, cooking soup and stew nonstop. And goodness knows what those Enâri creatures eat!”

  “Then send William and me over there to help in the kitchens. The garrison is closest to the west gate,” he explained. “It is but a tiny barred door, merely a side entrance.”

  “But two or three enemy soldiers will be stationed there nonetheless,” she said. “So it might as well be a hundred. How will you get past them?”

  “We’ll leave at dark. A new shift of guards usually eats before they take to their posts, right?” Martha nodded as the young prince held up the vial of rasaweed. “Perhaps we can add a little extra seasoning to their soup.”

  “Sleeping medicine?” Martha quickly pushed Brendan’s hand down in case a stray eye should see. “What do you suggest?”

  “Pour it into a kettle of soup, serve it to the guards and wait,” he explained.

  William nodded enthusiastically. “Great idea!”

  Martha continued to look busy while she talked. “And soon after, all the men guarding the gates will start to slump over in a deep sleep. What kind of attention do you think that’ll draw?”

  Brendan nodded sheepishly. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

  “Still, I think you’re onto something,” she reluctantly said to Prince Brendan’s surprise. “But we need a more subtle plan.” The two brothers brimmed with curiosity. “My cousin, Clovis, is a cook in the garrison. Perhaps he can help.”

  “How?” William asked.

  “I have something in mind,” she said. “But for now, you two go back to washing dishes. In an hour or so I’ll take you with me to help deliver the next two basketfuls of bread to the garrison. I’ll leave you there to assist Clovis.”

  “All right,” Brendan said, turning with his brother to leave. “We’ll do it your way.”

  “And Brendan,” Martha added in a sharp whisper, “keep that vial out of sight.”

  After the lunch rush subsided and the kitchen staff began preparations for the evening meals, Martha rounded up two large baskets woven from willow switches and filled them with small round loaves of bread to take to the garrison. She walked down the kitchen corridor accompanied by the two young princes, passing a handful of Enâri guards at their various stations, several of whom inspected the baskets and helped themselves to a snack before allowing the workers to pass. When they finally exited Red Lodge through a side entrance, the trio walked across the cobblestone compound to the garrison with Brendan in the center holding onto a handle of each basket while Martha and William grabbed an opposite handle on either side.

  Billowy clouds drifted overhead on the cool autumn afternoon, yet the courtyard trees, gardens and cobblestones were sun-splashed and vibrant. A throng of Island soldiers in long brown coats milled about near the various gates as Enâri guards walked along the top of the wall as if in mindless trances. Traces of black and gray smoke rose from the burnt-out hulk of one of the nearby storehouses. Brendan and William kept their eyes cast down and muttered to themselves, trying to subdue the rising anger in their hearts. Each boy wanted to lash out in some manner but knew it could mean their deaths if they did so.

  “I sense how you feel,” Martha whispered after they walked past two swaggering Island soldiers who each swiped a round of bread while mocking the kitchen workers. “But if our plan works, you’ll be able to do more good on the outside rather than making a valiant yet senseless stand inside these walls. Direct your energies to the escape.”

  Brendan grunted. “I know you’re right, Martha, but it’s not easy.”

  “Most important things worth doing in life never are, so…” She indicated the garrison up ahead. Beyond it to the west was a large well and a thicket of trees, and past that was an open space with a clear view of the northwest corner of the surrounding wall. The small west gate built beneath a stone archway was close to the north section. Two soldiers from the Isles stood guard near the gate. An Enâri watchman would occasionally amble by on the wall above while walking his guard.

  Those of King Rowan’s troops who were stationed at the compound but not housed in Red Lodge itself were quartered in the garrison. Serving behind the King’s walls at least once in their military career was a desired goal and a mark of prestige for every soldier. But today the King’s domicile had been turned upside down and the garrison overflowed with an invading horde. Martha hurried inside with Brendan, William and the bread, finding her cousin in one of the back kitchens. The man in a greasy white shirt and a towel over his shoulder greeted her with a huge smile, minus a couple of teeth. An unkempt head of thinning gray hair crept down his shoulders. He directed that the baskets of bread be taken away by some of his other helpers.

  “Your bakers are doing fine service in this troubled time, Martha,” he said, sipping from a wooden cup after raising it to her in good humor. “May I offer you a libation?”

  “I’m still on duty, Clovis. And so are you,” she replied with a chuckle. “But I’m here to offer you something, cousin.”

  “Really? What?”

  Martha pointed to Brendan and William. “Them.”

  “Extra help?” he asked, pleasantly surprised. “Well, we won’t turn that down, will we, Sadie!” he called out to a woman across the room working one of the ovens.

  “No indeed!” she replied with a laugh.

  “Welcome to the garrison,” Clovis pleasantly said, addressing the two boys. “I’ll set you to work right away and…” He suddenly eyed Brendan and William a bit closer, noting a peculiar familiarity. He scanned their features as he scratched his chin. “And what might your names be?” he asked, not allowing them a second to answer. It suddenly hit him where he had seen the two teenagers before. Clovis glanced wide-eyed at his cousin, silently fishing for an explanation.

  “You’ve recognized them correctly,” she whispered. “But do not mention their names out loud.”

  “No, of course not!” he said, slightly taken aback. “But their hair is so…” He looked at them closer. “Is that really…?” He quickly set his drink down. “Oh, pardon me for this,” he added, a bit embarrassed. “I was thirsty from the heat and a bottle of plum wine was the nearest beverage. It won’t happen again, young sirs.”

  Brendan grinned. “You needn’t worry about it, Clovis. Carry on as always. My brother and I are in your care now as Martha will shortly explain.”

  “I’ll explain quickly,” she added. “I have to get back to my station in Red Lodge.”

  “Then by all means, tell me what is going on,” Clovis said, leading them to an open pantry farthest away from any other workers. “To what do I owe the honor of having them in my kitchen? And what can I do to help?”

  Martha smiled impishly. “What you can do, cousin, is make a special batch of your delicious potato and bacon soup!”

  “I don’t understand,” William whispered to his older brother later that evening as they washed dishes in a large metal cauldron of hot, soapy water. The clamor of soldiers eating dinner in the front rooms reverberated throughout the garrison. “Why didn’t Clovis just pour the whole vial into their food? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

  Brendan shook his head as he rinsed a few bowls in a huge kettle of clean water and stacked them to dry. “Like Martha said, if he had done that, all the soldiers in this place would be falling asleep at their posts in another hour and the alarm would be raised. We wouldn’t escape under those circumstances. And who knows what harsh measures the wizard would impose afterward.” He glanced reassuringly at his brother. “Clovis has the right idea. He’ll send his niece out after the guard changes. That’s our best chance.”

  William shrugged. “If you say so. I’m just glad you’re in charge and not me.” He happened to glance through an archway into another part of the kitchen and saw a young girl about his age speaking to Clovis in private. He assumed they were discussing the plan. “There she is, Brendan. I hope Isabel is a good actress.”

  “We�
�ll find out shortly,” he replied distractedly as he looked longingly into the wash water. “How I’d like to dunk my head into this right about now,” he joked, scratching at his cap in annoyance.

  William grunted, trying to suppress a grin. “Pretty soon, I hope.” He watched the girl depart and saw Clovis return to work as the spark of humor left him. He sighed anxiously, counting down the minutes until their plan was set in motion.

  Isabel stepped out a side door of the kitchen an hour after the garrison was emptied of the last group of guards that had sat down for dinner. The petite blond girl, dressed in kitchen garb and a cloak, carried a large bowl of hot potato and bacon soup covered with a plate and a round loaf of bread sitting on top. She glanced about nervously and took a deep breath before walking toward the west gate under the rising Bear Moon. After passing the well and emerging from beneath a clump of trees, the west gate appeared in view in the near distance. From the illumination of a single oil lamp attached above the guard post, Isabel could distinguish two Island soldiers standing near the archway in the wall. The subtle moonlight guided her the rest of the way.

  The guards stood at attention and drew their swords when they saw the dark shape approaching, but quickly relaxed when recognizing a young girl in a cloak. The whiskered men grunted at one another and returned the swords to their sheaths.

  “If this is the kind of escape attempts we’ll have to deal with, then this will be a boring rotation off the Isles,” one of them joked.

  “You’re right,” the other soldier said before addressing the girl. “What do you want, little one? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  Isabel smirked. “That’s very amusing, even for an Islander. But I was just working in the kitchens and–”

  “Say, what’s in the bowl?” the first guard asked, cautiously placing his hand back on the hilt of his sword. “Do you have a knife in there? Maybe a rock?”