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

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “For real?” Aaron whispered, still holding the King’s hand. He wondered if William was creating a tale to make King Basil feel better in his worsening state. Garron looked up with doubt as well.

  “I speak the truth,” William replied, stepping back outside. “It is only too real!”

  Cheers of amazement suddenly burst forth from nearby soldiers as they witnessed the spectacle upon the water. Garron ran outside to see for himself, but as soon as he pushed aside the tent flap and stepped past William, an even louder cheer erupted as an impromptu celebration ensued. Everyone was suddenly pointing to the south, rejoicing when an array of flags from Arrondale and Maranac sprouted up like colorful flowers among the advancing second wave, replacing the dull, weed-like hues of Drogin’s own banners. Garron was speechless as he looked at William, both of them beaming.

  “Arrondale has arrived!” a soldier shouted, his voice piercing through the sides of the tent. “The reinforcements are ours!”

  “We’re annihilating the enemy!” cried another in joy. “There is victory at last!”

  “Do you hear that?” Aaron said, still holding King Basil’s hand. “King Justin and his men are here. We are winning the war!” He gently stroked the King’s forehead as a thin smile appeared upon the monarch’s face. But the King’s eyes remained closed and his breathing slow and intermittent.

  “That’s…wonderful news, Morton,” he whispered, low enough so that Aaron had to lean in to hear.

  “Yes, Father, it is wonderful,” he replied, his voice choking. “You saved Rhiál in the very end. You saved your people.”

  “And you…and your brother…shall lead them,” he managed to say, his face radiating with contentment and peace.

  “We shall,” Aaron whispered, seeing only King Basil’s pale face and recalling their many fine walks together as the shouting outside faded in his mind. He continued to stroke King Basil’s forehead and watched as his eyes darted beneath his closed lids. “Rest now, Father. You have earned it.”

  A few moments later, William and Garron stepped back inside the tent to recount the latest happenings, their faces flush with excitement and stunned disbelief at the fortunate turn of events. But when they saw Aaron look up, his shoulders slumped and his face wet with tears, grief overtook them. They knew that King Basil had left them forever. A cold, emptiness filled the tent as the three looked upon the King’s lifeless body. All were saddened that he would not be around to see Rhiál rise from its war-torn state, yet grateful that the monarch had learned that victory had triumphed in the end.

  William stepped forward and rested a hand upon Aaron’s shoulder, sensing the cruel anguish the boy was enduring but knowing he couldn’t do anything to lessen its severity. It would have to run its natural course through him and through the kingdom in the days and weeks ahead. Rhiál was now a nation both leaderless and war weary just as winter’s cold and brutal eyes were beginning to open. The young prince couldn’t imagine what the long, dreary months ahead would yield.

  CHAPTER 67

  Lamentations for the Departed

  The sun dipped in the southwest behind the jagged peaks of the Ridloe Mountains. Purple twilight gently cloaked the tree trunks on the silent battlefield and the creaky docks and fishing shanties along the sighing shores of Lake LaShear. Drogin’s war to reclaim Rhiál had ended with the arrival of King Justin’s troops. That final push, coupled with the conversion of many in the Maranac army who took up arms against Drogin at the very end, cast a fatal blow upon the wild ambitions of the false king. Where Drogin himself now lingered, whether in the corridors of his estate in Zaracosa or somewhere in the southern provinces of Rhiál, no one could say.

  Dozens of bonfires sputtered in the cold air upon the field and along the lake as evening deepened. Men went about the task of tending to the injured and burying the dead. Tents sprouted up like mushrooms across the landscape after the fighting had concluded. Both sides suffered major losses which would affect the wellbeing of the two nations and nearly every family for years to come. But as Rhiál stood upon winter’s doorstep, one of the first assignments was to reclaim the food stores that had been confiscated by Drogin’s forces in the south. A frosty chill already invaded the night air after the skies had cleared. Handfuls of icy stars glittered against inky skies. The men and women on the field, tending to the sick and injured, occasionally paused near one of the fires to warm themselves. Many wandered in disbelief as they went about their trying task.

  Shortly after sunset, King Justin and King Cedric paused for a meal of soup and bread that had been brought to them near one of the fires. They had met on the battlefield with their swords raised against the enemy, not having seen one another in several years. Among the soldiers and other captains now surrounding them were Eucádus and Captain Tiber, neither man having had a proper meal since the battle started that morning. All were famished though they hadn’t realized how much so until the first taste of food passed their lips. But talk of such pleasantries was kept to a minimum, overshadowed by the misery and obstacles that had become part of the landscape.

  “We face a long night into a cold, cruel morning,” King Cedric said while sitting upon a log. His wounded arm had been properly washed and wrapped in a clean bandage.

  “Though I already know your answer, Cedric,” King Justin replied, “you should remove yourself to the estate where you can sleep for a while. That was quite a gash you took. There will still be plenty of work for you to oversee in the days ahead.”

  “Perhaps I shall allow myself a short rest in one of the tents,” he said, “but I am fit to continue this evening. Others are far worse off compared to the mere scratch I received. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself wandering uselessly among King Basil’s corridors. It would break me right now.”

  “It would do so to all of us,” Eucádus said in a melancholy tone. “I think it’s better in the long run to immerse ourselves in the aftermath of this horror rather than avoid it. At least it will be for me.” Images of Jeremias’ last moments drifted through his mind. Eucádus, like many around him, had suffered terrible losses, but the grieving would have to be postponed until more immediate concerns were addressed.

  Soon a small group of soldiers trudged along on foot from the southeast side of the field and neared the bonfire, hoping for a bite to eat. Among them was Ramsey whom Eucádus greeted with a hug, not having seen his friend since he had left him riding north to the estate with William and Aaron. Ramsey was delighted to see him, having feared the worst over the past few hours.

  “Good news at last!” he said to Eucádus with a smile as he and his fellow soldiers were welcomed and given food and drink. As Ramsey scanned some of the faces in the fire’s glow, he was relieved to see that King Cedric and Captain Tiber had both survived their ordeals. “But where is Jeremias? Were you separated in the fighting?”

  Eucádus nodded, his face tightening in anguish. “Yes, my friend. Forever.”

  When he spoke those words, Ramsey noted the deep sorrow in the man’s eyes and instantly understood. He sighed as he rubbed a hand across his weary face, his throat tightening. “How did it happen?” he whispered, listening as Eucádus described the final heroic moments of their friend.

  But only a few minutes had passed when the shared grief of the group was compounded. A horseman arrived from the estate, one of many fanning out across the field and along the lakeside bearing news of King Basil’s death. The monarch’s body had since been borne back to the estate and only now was word of his demise being dispatched among the gatherings upon the battlefield.

  “This is indeed one more black cloud over a terrible day,” King Justin remarked as he stood staring into the fire, one foot resting upon a stone. “And I had so wished to talk with Basil again. It has been too long since we last met.”

  “He was in fragile health,” King Cedric replied, “though I had hoped he would survive long enough to see his country restored to what it once was and perhaps enjoy it f
or a time. But I’m afraid the death of his oldest son and the disappearance of Victor, his youngest, did as much damage to his wellbeing as any illness could.”

  In light of the sad tidings, King Justin and King Cedric decided to make their way to the estate with a small contingent to pay their respects to the fallen King. Accompanying them were Eucádus, Ramsey and Captain Tiber, all anxious for information about their friends who had been battling along the lakeside.

  The five men slowly made their way north along the battlefield on horseback, stopping occasionally to talk with other soldiers and volunteer civilians gathered among the wind-whipped tents and crackling bonfires while tending to the ravages of war. In time, the two Kings and their companions headed up the main road along the estate now lined with a series of tall torches embedded into the ground and adorned with black ribbons in honor of the fallen sovereign. The large flag of Rhiál suspended from one of the building’s upper windows was also similarly decorated. A single candle blazed behind each window pane in the estate, casting the compound in a sad and subtle glow of mourning.

  The soldiers guarding the main gates stood at attention when they saw the Kings of Arrondale and Drumaya trotting by on their steeds to pay homage to their departed leader. Despite King Basil’s death, everyone knew that today would have turned out unimaginably worse were it not for the brave troops brought here from afar.

  The five visitors were escorted inside the estate and led to a large, dimly lit library that had been cleared of all furniture except for a few wooden chairs around the perimeter. Here King Basil’s body lay at one end of the room upon a polished oak bier draped with an embroidered pall of somber colors. His head, with a delicate ringlet of silver placed upon it, rested on a small, square pillow. A fireplace blazing with pine logs provided the only light save for a few flickering candles affixed to the walls.

  “He looks as if the weight of the world has been removed from his shoulders,” King Cedric remarked as the two monarchs stood side by side before the low platform and gazed upon the departed King. His gray hair had been combed and he was dressed in his finest garb. A hint of a peaceful smile was etched upon his face. Set upon the bier, horizontal and below his feet, was King Basil’s sword, its polished blade reflecting flashes of orange and red firelight.

  “Soon the weight of the world will be on another man’s shoulders,” King Justin said as he gently rested his hand upon the arm of the departed monarch, contemplating the solemn moment. The two Kings stepped aside, allowing Eucádus, Captain Tiber and Ramsey to offer their respects. “Well, at least the weight of Rhiál, if not the world,” he quietly continued after he and King Cedric moved a few paces away. “As King Basil has no living heir, rule of this realm will be in doubt. That is an unfortunate development even with the war over. Rhiál needs stability now more than ever.”

  “I was thinking the same,” King Cedric replied as they stood near the raging fire while the others continued viewing the deceased. “Once Drogin gets word, he will worm his way deeper into Rhiál’s power structure through methods other than the point of a sword.”

  King Justin nodded. “I think we need to pay Drogin a visit following the King’s burial tomorrow afternoon.”

  “We and our combined armies?” King Cedric added with a grim smile.

  “Precisely. Stern words without the hardware behind them will do little to throw fear into the enemy. Drogin needs to realize in no uncertain terms that he will pay dearly for his incursion into Rhiál.” King Justin stared fixedly into the crackling flames as they danced upon the hearth. “And that same message must be delivered to Vellan as well, my friend. You of all people must realize that, living in his shadow all these years.”

  “The citizens of Drumaya are only too aware of Vellan’s presence,” King Cedric replied in a hard tone. “Though the Ebrean Forest acts as a buffer between us, we knew his forces could strike us with ease whenever he chose. I think that Eucádus and the other Clearing leaders–and their small but effective armies ready to spring to our defense–gave Vellan pause, just enough to keep him at bay while he locked his gaze upon Rhiál. But now that we defeated him here, we must press forward and not rest on this victory. We must deal another blow to Vellan’s grand plans–preferably a fatal one.”

  “I’m glad we agree. But as winter is fast approaching, a springtime offensive would be the wisest course. Our men need to recuperate and we must restock weapons and provisions. I could call another war council in a month or so to sort out the details. But after our victory here, I suspect there will be little or no resistance to confront Vellan now that so many of our allies have seen his cruel handiwork up close.”

  “I suspect not,” King Cedric agreed. “But the quicker we get underway, the better. As soon as winter breaks, let us unloose our armies upon that tyrant. I want to give Vellan as little time as possible to recover from his loss.”

  “Then I expect another visit from Ambassador Osial. I assume he will make the trip to Morrenwood a second time on your behalf.”

  King Cedric grinned. “He may or may not. But you can definitely count on my presence this time, Justin. I look forward to sitting in your chamber in the Blue Citadel as the snows of New Winter fall. It has been too long since we exchanged visits.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it. And by that time, the situation in Montavia should be settled one way or the other, too.” An inscrutable smirk formed on King Justin’s face which the other King curiously noted. “Matters are unfolding that may contribute to our success there–and perhaps in Kargoth as well–though I am under oath not to reveal the particulars of the mission.”

  King Cedric nodded knowingly, recalling his cryptic conversation with Prince William when he had first met the boy. “In a roundabout way, I was similarly apprised by the younger prince of Montavia–without specifics–that something was afoot. He visited me at Grantwick to engage my army’s help in this war.”

  “Prince William was in Drumaya?” King Justin was both stunned and relieved by the comment, exhaling deeply as he combed a hand through his hair. “He and his brother were guests at the Citadel after the war council. They took leave for a few days while my son readied an army for the long road to Montavia, but they never returned. Scouts were sent out to search for them, but came back empty-handed. Where are they? I’m anxious to speak with them.”

  “William is safe at the estate. I had talked to Eucádus earlier, asking him to allow me to fill you in on William and Brendan’s whereabouts.”

  “What a relief to have news about them. So, what have they been up to?”

  King Cedric didn’t know how to begin, reluctant to break the news of Prince Brendan’s death. “William and his brother had left Morrenwood to seek out an audience with me, Justin, to persuade me to help you in this battle against Drogin.”

  King Justin smiled. “They fooled my advisor, Nedry, and me, claiming a desire to go into the countryside because of boredom.”

  “As I remarked earlier, William referred to the same secret mission that you had just mentioned, talking about an oath and such. I was encouraged that perhaps help from an unexpected source may come our way. It is a hopeful sign.”

  “A little bit of hope is justified, Cedric. But it must also be tempered with the knowledge that this secret mission may only have an outside chance of succeeding.”

  “Still, it is a chance.”

  King Justin nodded impatiently. “Yes. Tell me more of Brendan and William. Did they both ride with you here from Grantwick, or did Brendan return to Morrenwood on his own? You said that only William was at the estate.”

  “I did,” he uncomfortably replied. “But first I should say that while in Drumaya, William told me of a rather disturbing event that happened to him and his brother. And from that, William concluded that perhaps your oath of secrecy was not so secret after all.”

  King Justin furrowed his brow. “Do not gingerly walk around the words you mean to speak, Cedric. Tell me exactly what is on your mind.”
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br />   “Though I do not relish the task, I will do so, Justin. But it will be hard news for you to bear. It is about Prince Brendan.” King Cedric momentarily averted his eyes. “He did not make the journey with us from Drumaya nor back to Morrenwood by himself. Fate led him along another road.”

  King Justin noted the growing tension upon King Cedric’s countenance, expecting horrible news. “What are you saying? Where is Brendan? What happened to him?”

  After a long pause, he finally uttered the dreaded words. “Brendan was murdered,” he softly said, though feeling as if his voice had permeated every corner of the large library. “He was struck down in the Ebrean Forest by someone who–or something that–well, to tell you the truth, Justin, I’m not exactly sure.”

  King Justin paled as the blood drained from his face, unable to fully process what he was hearing. He took a few steps backward and sat down on one of the chairs. King Cedric sat beside him, briefly catching Eucádus’ gaze as he stood near the bier with Captain Tiber.

  “Tell me what happened.” King Justin stared at the floor, his words laced with bitter anger, though not directed at his fellow monarch but solely at himself.

  King Cedric patiently recounted William’s story about the attack inside the cabin, hardly believing the words as he conveyed them. King Justin believed them even less, but his heart felt the tug of each sentence and the dreadful images they evoked as they wrung out the few glimmers of hope this day had provided. When King Cedric finished his tale, King Justin shook his head repeatedly as he gazed at the floorboards, feeling responsible for Brendan’s death.

  “I still don’t understand,” he continued, looking up. “What kind of a creature was it that William described? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Nor have I. But William said that he–it–had mistaken him and Brendan for the other two men on the real mission. But being true to his oath, William offered no further details.”