“Of course! That’s Len Harold,” the prince replied, guiding his horse off to the side with the wizard and one of his captains while signaling for the others to continue on. Prince Gregory beckoned to Len Harold as he dismounted his steed.
Len hastened over and greeted the prince with a handshake to the envy and amazement of the other villagers. “I’m honored to see you again, sir,” he said with a pleasant smile.
“The honor is mine,” the prince replied. “I don’t have much time to spare, but as I saw a familiar face, I hoped you could offer me fresh information about Otto Nibbs, your mayor. At the council, you said that he had been missing after going off alone to meet with the Enâri creatures in your vicinity.”
Len appeared distressed. “He has since returned–and how.”
He explained that their village had been attacked twenty-four days ago by a band of soldiers from the Northern Isles. “The wizard Caldurian was behind the effort, and for nine days we were prisoners inside Kanesbury, unable to send word for help.” After recounting the details, including Otto Nibbs’ surprise return and subsequent arrest, Len told the prince that Caldurian and his troops disappeared before dawn fifteen days ago.
“And Otto Nibbs is still incarcerated?” Tolapari asked.
Len nodded uncomfortably. “He is awaiting a public trial, being accused of betraying his village, among other charges.”
“King Justin will be saddened to hear that his second cousin is in such a predicament,” said the prince.
“So are most,” Len replied. “Everything happened in the heat of the moment while we were under Caldurian’s fist. I think everyone now secretly regrets what has happened. But still, a trial will go forth when Mayor Maynard Kurtz returns from Morrenwood.”
The prince appeared perplexed by Len’s statement. “Your mayor went to Morrenwood?”
“Yes. He planned to meet with King Justin and tell him about Caldurian’s reappearance. He left eight days ago,” Len informed him. “Zachary Farnsworth, who manages the local banking house, is currently our acting mayor.”
Prince Gregory and Tolapari glanced at one another with befuddled apprehension. “It will be most difficult for Maynard Kurtz to meet with my father in Morrenwood since the King is currently fighting a war in Rhiál. And if Mayor Kurtz did go to the Blue Citadel, I think I would have known something about it. But I never met with him. I left Morrenwood only two days ago.”
“That’s odd,” Len replied, scratching his head. “If Maynard left eight days ago, that would have given him plenty of time to arrive before you departed. Maybe he was delayed or injured on the way.”
“You should inform Mayor Farnsworth that your other mayor is missing,” Tolapari said.
“And your mayor previous to him now sits in a jail cell,” the prince added curiously. “What an intriguing village you have here, Mr. Harold.”
“Apparently so,” he softly replied with growing suspicion.
“But I have more pressing business to attend to,” he added, climbing back on his horse after thanking Len for his time. “Caldurian has taken his treachery and carnage to Montavia, and that is where we will stop him. Your new mayor might want to send out a search party to locate Maynard Kurtz in case he has fallen into misfortune.”
“I’ll talk to Zachary right away,” Len replied, thanking the prince for his time and concern. He waved goodbye as the men rode off and rejoined the passing troops at the front of the line.
The army continued along River Road, and a short time later marched past the Spirit Caves less than two miles east of Kanesbury. Several tall pines towered in front of the caves, swaying gently in the steady, late autumn breezes. On the opposite side of the road stood the decaying remains of the old wooden guardhouse constructed twenty years ago as a first line of defense against the five hundred sleeping Enâri that once inhabited the caves. Now the bleak area lay abandoned and Prince Gregory urged his troops to hurry on. He felt compelled to reach Montavia as soon as possible, yet knew they would need a few more days to conclude the march.
Near sundown, they approached a road stretching north to Pigeon Lake. Prince Gregory instructed his captains to prepare their camp for the night in the field below where the roads intersected.
“Tomorrow we change course. We head north away from our path parallel to the Pine River that has reliably guided us these past few days,” he later said while sitting near a bonfire beneath a handful of icy stars and the large, crescent Bear Moon dipping in the west. “After we reach Pigeon Lake, our road grows more difficult. Fields and hillocks will replace the dirt roads. We’ll skirt the north tip of the Black Hills and then go through the Keppel Mountains just beyond.”
“We will do so with ease,” one of his captains replied. “In three more days, we’ll be looking down upon the city of Triana and make our strike at dawn.”
“That is the plan,” the prince replied, glancing at Tolapari who looked subdued in the orange-red glow of the flames.
Prince Gregory knew that the wizard was thinking about the medallion, both wondering if Nicholas and Leo had succeeded in their mission. The prince had no choice but to depart Morrenwood when he did, having lingered as long as he could without word of the key’s return. For all he knew, Nicholas and Leo could be lost in the Dunn Hills, having never found Frist at all.
“I’m sure they tried their best,” Prince Gregory remarked to the wizard as the other soldiers talked among themselves. “Your instructions couldn’t have been better from what my father told me, but success was never guaranteed.”
“I know that,” he replied. “Still, it would have been a much deserved surprise for Caldurian to see the Enâri army vanish before his eyes.”
“When he sees our army swarming upon Red Lodge, he’ll be surprised indeed.”
Tolapari smiled vaguely as the flames crackled. “That’s not the only surprise Caldurian can expect.”
The prince arched his brow. “Meaning…?”
Tolapari looked up. “Hmmm? Oh, sorry. Just talking to myself, Gregory. Nothing important.”
The prince stared at his friend with an uncertain glance before letting the cryptic comment pass. “Well, whatever Nicholas and Leo’s fate, it was a brave and honorable attempt. I hope they return to the Citadel unscathed or I shall never hear the end of it.”
“Are you afraid that Megan will send you out looking for Leo if he doesn’t come back?”
“If only,” he replied with a smirk, warming his hands by the fire. “I’m afraid that she’d run out and search for Leo herself!”
They departed on a cool and misty morning the next day, the line of men and supplies turning north up the road to Pigeon Lake. Without the view of the Pine River flowing lazily to their right anymore, all felt as if a dear and valued companion had left them in mid journey. But when the sun peeked out above the distant Black Hills and patches of blue colored the sky, their spirits rose and the army moved forward with renewed vigor. Before noontime, after passing through a handful of tiny villages and stretches of farmland, the choppy, gray waters of Pigeon Lake appeared ahead as a friendly beacon to guide them on the next stage of their journey.
They moved on after a brief rest and meal by the water, veering northeast over hard soil and dry grass as the northern tip of the Black Hills grew closer. Prince Gregory chose to direct his troops easily around the hills rather than through them, saving much time despite the added miles. Before nightfall, the army had followed the curve around the northernmost peaks and then turned southeast toward the open area between the Black Hills and the Keppel Mountains. Here the companies halted and made their encampment. Fires soon blossomed on the field, tents sprung up like wild mushrooms and meals were prepared. Hours of sleep passed quickly until another day dawned, cold and grim, marking the fifth day of their campaign.
The last day of autumn was upon them. Hours drifted by uneventfully as they moved southeast toward the Keppel Mountains to their left, on the other side of which lay the kingdom of Montavia
. Its capital, Triana, was situated on the eastern border of the small mountain range along the Gestina River. Before midday, the prince sent out several groups of scouts, some to locate the best passageway through the mountains while others would travel all the way to Triana to spy upon the enemy before the assault was launched.
A few hours before sunset, the army arrived near the foot of the mountains as the first scouts returned, guiding the troops to a spot another mile south. Here they entered the mountain range through a narrow river valley of brown grasses, leafless trees and low mountain peaks already dusted with snow. The soldiers plodded onward until darkness settled in, again making camp for the night. Unlike previous days, the mood now was tense and subdued as the mountains seemed to encroach upon them.
“Enjoy the fire tonight, boys,” one of the captains remarked as he made his rounds. “Tomorrow night we go without. We can’t risk drawing the eyes of the enemy while we gather on his doorstep.”
The sixth and final day of their trek commenced on winter’s first day. The army weaved its way through the Keppel Mountains, crossing streams and open fields and narrow stretches of woodland when unavoidable. As they drew closer to the eastern edge of the mountain range, more scouts returned and reported their sightings. As expected, the main road running north and south along the mountains near Triana was patrolled by men from the Northern Isles.
“But they are intermittent patrols,” one of the scouts informed Prince Gregory as he scratched a crude map into the dirt with a stick, “and can be easily taken out before we strike. I think they have grown lax in their guard because they’ve held the kingdom for two months without a challenge. They are overconfident.”
“Let’s not make the same mistake,” the prince replied. “We will approach them as if they had only invaded Montavia yesterday and are prepared to defend their take to the death.”
By twilight, they had traveled as far as they could go, having passed through the mountains to the east side. They made camp in the woods up and down the main road on the outskirts of Triana now less than a mile away. Here among the pines and leafless trees they would remain concealed until dawn, positioning themselves and refining their battle plan until the word was given to strike. Prince Gregory knew that the hours ahead would drag by, yet his thoughts and emotions galloped along as fast as wild horses.
“A few hours sleep wouldn’t hurt you,” Tolapari said while sitting against a towering pine, lost in thought. “Someone will wake you with plenty of time to spare.”
“My body would love nothing more,” Prince Gregory replied, “but I’m afraid my mind won’t let me. Perhaps later. In the meantime, I shall walk among the trees to clear my head. Maybe the fresh air will tire me out.”
He nodded to the wizard before wandering off through the leafy undergrowth, thinking not about tomorrow’s attack but about his daughter instead. He hoped that Megan wasn’t feeling lonely wandering the Citadel corridors in the middle of the night these last few days, sleepless and full of worry like her father. How he wished he was back home with her and his father, enjoying a warm meal and a pleasant laugh in front of a roaring fire. One day soon, he hoped.
CHAPTER 75
vin Éska
Caldurian stood at a window in his shadowy bedroom at Red Lodge, gazing out east across the inky waters of the Gestina River. The dawn of winter’s second day approached, yet the eastern skyline still lay charcoal black as night reluctantly loosened its grip. A fire burned in the nearby hearth. The wizard, his black cloak wrapped over layered garments, folded his arms and sighed while caressing his short, pointed beard. Though content with his recent revenge upon Otto Nibbs, he still felt bored and unfulfilled. Despite pushing Kanesbury to the brink of destruction before deserting it hours before dawn nineteen days ago, he still craved greater power. He yearned for the public adulation of a wider audience. More importantly, he thought he deserved it.
Achieving that goal wouldn’t have been a problem if Vellan’s long choreographed plans hadn’t gone awry. Over the past several days, informants from the south had made their way to Montavia, apprising the wizard about Drogin’s defeat in Maranac. The terrible news had been surprising, but what bothered Caldurian the most was being stuck in a pitiful little kingdom awaiting word of Vellan’s next move. Yet apparently Vellan was in no hurry relaying those orders, secure in his stronghold in Kargoth.
“Perhaps he doesn’t know what to do,” Caldurian whispered to himself in the chilly gloom. He pressed his forehead to the window pane, searching for answers in the darkness. “Perhaps someone else should be in charge. Someone like me.”
Though Vellan had begun training Caldurian in the magic arts twenty-seven years ago, Caldurian now felt less allegiance to the wizard with each passing day. He deemed himself a significant power in his own right, determined to stamp his mark upon Laparia. He stepped back from the window as snippets of a plan swirled in his head, a plan he had never spoken about to anyone. He had forced himself to grow accustomed to it as if stepping closer and closer to a raging fire until comfortable with the increasing heat.
Caldurian reached inside one of his deep, cloak pockets, feeling for a glass vial. It contained the last of the potion that Arileez had drunk to free himself from his island captivity. Vellan had prepared the mixture which allowed Arileez to break through the confinement spell that once held him. But he secretly added another potent bit of magic to the liquid to slowly reverse Arileez’ powers after he consumed it, including his unique transformational abilities. Caldurian calculated that sometime after Arileez would assume the form of King Justin and act as Vellan’s puppet in the Blue Citadel, the potion would run its course and reduce Arileez to a mere mortal. He would then be forever trapped in the identical King’s body, not knowing why his powers had failed, but learning to accept his role as monarch while doing Vellan’s bidding.
The wizard removed the vial from his pocket and held it up to the light of the fireplace, gazing through the amber glass at the liquid contents. He always wondered if he could use this same potion against Vellan, though doubting he could easily get him to consume it in some ordinary fashion. Caldurian would have to be most clever if he were to introduce it into Vellan’s system. Even then, he didn’t know if it would have any effect on such a powerful wizard. Still, he thought about it off and on for nearly three years ever since he first learned about Arileez’ existence and was recruited by Vellan to sail to Torriga with the magic potion. Though Caldurian hadn’t admitted it to himself back then when he kept some of the potion, he now realized that he had been subconsciously plotting Vellan’s demise since that time.
Caldurian slipped the vial back into his pocket, wondering if he would be bold enough to implement his plan. The thought of replacing Vellan both unnerved and excited him. A knock at the door scattered his thoughts. He spun around and called out.
“Who disturbs me at this early hour?”
The door opened and Gwyn walked into the room. The Enâr was attired in a leather jerkin beneath his weathered, gray cloak. A small sword hung from his side. Light from the corridor splashed onto the floorboards until an Island soldier standing guard outside closed the door to give them privacy. Caldurian kept most of his Enâri troops at Red Lodge and in the vicinity to do his bidding after the invasion, though he had sent a handful out to each of the major villages with their Island counterparts to report back at regular intervals. Though he worked with Commander Jarrin and his men from the Isles as Vellan wished, Caldurian never fully placed his trust in them. He did, however, keep a company of the Islanders at Red Lodge to use as guards in a show of cooperation.
“What is it, Gwyn?” he asked, sitting down in a chair near the fireplace as the Enâr stood rigidly at the door. Though the room was immersed in thick gloom, the wizard could see that Gwyn was upset.
“Red Lodge is under attack. Men have stormed the main gates but are not yet inside.”
“What?” he cried. Caldurian jumped up from his seat, appearing bewildered as i
f such a possibility had never before entered his mind. His mood quickly shifted to anger. “Jarrin’s men have been lax in their patrol of the border!”
The wizard flew to the window and flung it open as Gwyn rushed to his side. A sharp, winter breeze cut through the warm air inside, disturbing the flames in the hearth. Caldurian stuck his head through the opening, detecting the frenetic movement of shadows in the darkness below near one of the minor east gates as the unmistakable metallic clash of swords and gruff shouts of men rent the predawn stillness. Though he couldn’t see any of the fighting near the main southern gate from this angle, Caldurian heard an even more fierce battle rage in that direction.
“What are your orders?” Gwyn asked.
Caldurian swung the window closed and locked it, staring at the glass panes. His facial muscles tightened as he juggled a dozen thoughts. He turned his head, throwing a sharp glance at Gwyn.
“Kill them, of course,” he replied. “But capture whoever is leading this offensive. I want information. And send warnings to our Island friends in the nearby villages. They may be under siege soon, if not already.”
“As you wish.”
“No doubt King Justin has his finger in this episode despite his latest effort down south.” The wizard sighed with disgust, annoyed with himself, annoyed with Vellan, and most of all angered that another one of his schemes was beginning to unravel. “But the King will get what’s coming to him soon enough.” Caldurian imagined Commander Uta and his troops storming the Citadel any day now to replace Arrondale’s monarch with Arileez. He trusted that Madeline and Mune would not let him down. As Gwyn hurried to the door, the wizard called him back. “Wait. One more thing.”
The Enâr spun around. “Yes?”
“Take King Rowan and his daughter-in-law to the main level near the north entrance. Get a dozen of your best troops, those who can ride. I will meet you there momentarily.”
Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy) Page 120