“Vellan isn’t to be trusted,” William warned his grandfather as the King retrieved a few small items from his saddlebag.
“I know that only too well,” King Rowan said as his grandson tugged at his sleeve.
“Will, they know what they’re doing, so let them do it,” Brendan told him.
The King turned around and looked kindly upon his two grandsons. “This last show with Vellan is simply for that–show. We expect nothing from the parley yet are willing to go this one extra step because that is the kind of people we are. Vellan, on the other hand, is a conniver and a liar. But,” he added with a glint in his eyes, “we are not naïve and will watch him like a hawk.”
“I’d feel much better if I could ride out with you,” William said. “I’ve become handy with a sword lately as I trained to pass the time during our long journey.”
“Swords won’t be necessary at this stage of the game,” remarked Tolapari as he strolled by on his way to see King Justin. He smiled knowingly as his dark blue robes swept across the dewy grass. “Hurry now. The others are waiting.”
“Right behind you,” William replied. He glanced at his brother and grandfather, wondering if they could decipher the wizard’s curious comment.
“You heard the man,” King Rowan said, urging them on. “The others are waiting.”
Fifteen minutes later, the rumbling of ten galloping horses reverberated across the landscape. William watched as King Justin proudly rode out to a parley tent with Kings Rowan and Cedric accompanying him on either side. Eucádus and Captain Silas rode outside on the left and right flanks. Five other soldiers bearing flags, three in front and two in back, rounded out the party. They advanced upon a large tent in a field on the southeast edge of the city not far from the river. Several tall torches burned in a wide circle surrounding the tent. Two guards stood at the entrance awaiting their adversaries’ arrival.
William stood with several others in the shadow of a tall tree. He was about to tap Tolapari on the shoulder to ask him a question when Ramsey, standing nearby, stopped the young prince with a sharp glance.
“Better leave him alone,” he whispered as the wizard gazed out upon the ten horsemen with a focused eye, seemingly unaware of those around him. Tolapari’s lips moved from time to time as if he were talking to himself.
William pulled back his hand, watching the proceedings in silence as did most of the troops. Several paces to his right, three groups of soldiers waited restlessly near a crackling bonfire as King Justin and his men approached the parley tent.
Moments later, the center guard riding in front of the line raised an arm high in the air, signaling the others to slow down until they were about ten yards away from the tent. The two guards from Kargoth bowed slightly, begrudgingly signaling the arrival of the enemy. One stepped forward as the ten horsemen approached.
“Welcome, King Justin and company, to Del Norác!” he called out in a cold, clear voice. “Our great leader, Vellan, eagerly awaits your visit.”
His words had barely left his lips when a torrent of armed soldiers burst out of the tent like a fierce wave, charging at King Justin and his men with raised swords and bows at the ready. Two other groups simultaneously rushed out from behind the tent on either side and joined in the attack. A stream of arrows directed at the King and his companions sailed through the air with brutal swiftness, piercing their marks with bold accuracy. A riot of sharp swords quickly followed. But Vellan’s soldiers, ecstatic over the success of their surprise offensive as they rushed upon their enemy, slowly realized what was really happening as they neared the ten horses.
Prince William and the others watched with fascination from their safe positions. They were especially amazed when King Justin and the others, moments after enduring a barrage of arrows and the cruel thrusts of swords, suddenly dissipated into wisps of gray and white smoke. The attacking soldiers from Kargoth stood aghast, many with swords still raised or with new arrows ready to fly, as the ten now-empty horses fled across the field back to their keepers.
At the same moment, Prince William noted that Tolapari grew visibly relaxed. The tension in his facial muscles disappeared in a flash. The wizard turned to him as if casually speaking to a friend. “You had wanted to ask me something?”
“Just wondering how long you could manipulate those smoke apparitions from this distance,” he replied with a grin. “But I can now see that it was just long enough.”
“Indeed!” a voice piped up from behind. Suddenly King Justin emerged from the crowd where he and the other parley delegates had been keeping a low profile until the wizard’s smoke ruse had played out. “I’ll give Caldurian this much–it’s a simple yet effective trick. But now that we’ve exposed Vellan’s trap, it’s time to get on to the real business at hand.” He walked over to the bonfire where three groups of a dozen soldiers each had been waiting, all armed with bows and arrows whose tips were each wrapped with a small piece of specially treated cloth. “Let the serpent fly,” King Justin instructed the soldiers, nodding to them with steely confidence.
The first group of archers, after readying an arrow in their bows, dipped the wadded points into the fire until a steady flame took hold. The dozen men raised their weapons to the gray sky, aiming northwest as they pulled back on the bowstrings. In unison, they released the burning arrows in a high, spectacular arc that streaked across the sky like a burst of dragon’s breath. In quick succession, the second and third groups launched their weapons along the same line, blazing a swift, fiery trail across the morning sky to signal their fellow warriors stationed over a mile away behind a woodland tract, all patiently waiting to liberate Deshla prison. After months of preparation, the war with Vellan had begun.
CHAPTER 101
The Secret of Deshla
Nicholas opened his eyes to darkness. As remnants of sleep dissipated inside his head, the scent of pine and cedar, the crackling of bonfires and the whisperings of men on patrol reminded him that he was encamped several miles south of the Champeko Forest on the southwestern slope of Mount Minakaris.
As he sat up and yawned, several blankets fell from his shoulders. He wrapped them back around himself to ward off the night chill that penetrated his coat underneath. A nearby fire snapped liked forked snake tongues. He couldn’t tell how many hours past midnight had drifted by since he first lay down his head. Shimmering moonlight cast an eerie glow through the gauzy clouds drifting above the treetops.
Nicholas noted several sleeping soldiers in the glow of firelight, including Leo who had accompanied him, Max and Hobin to these parts after a nearly uneventful journey. They had said goodbye to King Justin almost two weeks ago, after which Maximilian guided them across the border into Linden. They followed the Bellunboro River for a few days and then traveled west into the mountains, making for the resistance camp on the northern tip of the Champeko Forest. Malek happily greeted their return, upon which they informed him about the King’s plan to attack Vellan and of the fiery signal that would be launched at dawn on the twentieth day of New Spring. The next day, Malek and his counterparts led the final march to beyond the southern reaches of the Champeko. Here, nearly eight hundred rebel troops would await King Justin’s signal while hiding out in the shadow of Mount Minakaris.
During his trek along the Bellunboro, Nicholas had found few things to lighten his mood as Ivy had been on his mind most of the time. The friendly debates between Hobin and Max contrasting the grandeur and beauty of the Dunn Hills to the Northern Mountains occasionally offered a welcomed distraction. But in the end, neither convinced the other of his position and called it an amicable draw.
As the four had made their way along the river, they avoided larger villages hugging the waterway, uncertain if Vellan’s soldiers or his Island allies might have been patrolling there. They did, however, pass through a few hamlets along the way to buy supplies and ask about the latest news. One farmer recounted how a large company of Enâri soldiers had arrived last autumn during the harvest, dem
anding a share of each farmer’s crops as tribute to Vellan.
“As they were armed and outnumbered the fighting-age men in our community, we agreed,” the farmer explained. “We had heard horror stories about other villages being burned and its citizens killed when they hadn’t cooperated. We didn’t want that, so each farmstead set aside what was requested, packing up the crops in crates and barrels until the troops returned in a line of wagons on the first day of New Winter. After we loaded them up, the Enâri spent the night in the area, planning to leave the following morning.”
“What happened?” Nicholas asked, anticipating what the farmer was about to say since Leo had opened the Spirit Box on the second day of New Winter.
“Many of us awoke at dawn to see Vellan’s creatures off, happy to be rid of the nuisances without any injury or loss of life,” he continued. “But then the strangest thing happened as a sudden rush of wind cut across the land.” The man moved his hand through the air to mimic the breeze, lowering his voice as if divulging a secret. “Suddenly, every Enâri creature stopped moving and breathing. Even stopped talking, those that were. But that surprise lasted only a moment compared to what happened next.”
“What?” Hobin asked, feigning ignorance.
“All the Enâri turned into statues of sand, if you can believe it, and immediately collapsed upon themselves,” the farmer excitedly replied. “Our enemy, in the bat of a moth’s wing, had been taken down by some inexplicable force, leaving our tribute of food and the enemy’s horses and carts unharmed for us to reclaim.”
The farmer looked at them as if to say that they would never hear a more amazing story. He told them as much when he led them to his barn and opened a large, cloth bundle pulled from underneath a work bench. Inside were two pairs of Enâri boots, two uniforms and several daggers, as well as a small wooden box filled with a handful of sand.
Max darkly grinned. “You kept some of the remains?”
“Each of us did to serve as proof of our story. Most of the items we later burned. And as for their sandy remains, the autumn rain and winter snow took care of them.”
“Quite a story,” Leo said. He examined the items, his mind drifting back to that cold dawn in the upper turret in the Citadel. Evidence of the handiwork wrought by the deadly fury released from the Spirit Box was laid out before him. And though he was satisfied to see the results with his own eyes, he was far happier to hear from the farmer how liberty and normalcy had returned to his life and to those of his loved ones. The journey through the Dunn Hills had been well worth the effort.
Nicholas’ thoughts drifted back to the present as he sat in darkness among the sleeping soldiers, hours before the dawn attack on Deshla. He had waited for the brutal mountain winter to pass for this chance to find Ivy, a slim chance perhaps, but one he knew he must take. As the fire crackled, he eased his body to the ground and tightened the blankets around him. But as sleep beckoned, he knew that he would first have to survive tomorrow if any of the rest was to matter. Stone-heavy weariness finally overwhelmed him, scattering his thoughts as he surrendered to a deep and restful sleep.
“And some of the best ale and most succulent lamb chops can be had at the Crescent Fox, a small inn located outside my village of Pelico in Surna,” a familiar voice whispered. “That’s where I first met Malek. He was passing through while recruiting for the resistance movement. And your favorite?”
“The Plum Orchard Inn,” a second voice responded. “It’s ten miles north of Minago, but worth the trip. Always good food and ale, with my favorite meal being the roasted pork dinner I had last autumn with Megan and Nicholas. But then again, when I visited the summer before last–”
“Really? At this hour?” Nicholas groggily looked up at Leo and Sala who sat close by, their voices having invaded his dreams. He sat up as a faint, gray light touched the sky through the treetops. “Discussing favorite places for a meal when we’re barely awake?”
“We’re awake. And can you think of a better conversation to have on the eve of battle?” Sala smiled cheerfully as Nicholas rubbed his eyes. “Leo and I wondered if you were ever going to join us for breakfast.”
“Not Plum Orchard Inn fare, but filling nonetheless,” Leo said, holding up an herb biscuit and a mug of hot tea. “There are also dried bacon strips and a sack of black walnuts to pick through. You’d better eat up soon. The scouting teams are back.”
Leo indicated a small clearing in the camp. There, some of the resistance leaders gathered around a bonfire to speak with several scouts who had returned during the night. Malek and Tradell were present along with a handful of others, including Maximilian and Hobin, who all listened to the latest reports. Everyone anticipated an early raid on Deshla.
“So we’re finally going through with it,” Nicholas remarked. “Any news?”
“We’re waiting for instructions just like you,” Sala replied, stretching his arms. “But I don’t expect it should be long now.”
“That’s why you should eat something,” Leo said, tossing Nicholas a biscuit.
“Or you’ll be forced to eat along the way.” Sala glanced at the clearing. He observed Malek and the others filtering away from their meeting with a sense of urgency. “Looks like we’re about to get our instructions,” he said anxiously. “The years adrift in these mountains fighting for our freedom is about to come to an end.” He took a slow sip of tea, the glow from a nearby blaze highlighting the apprehension in his eyes. “But to what end?” he ominously added, setting his mug upon a cold, flat rock beside him.
The troops broke camp twenty minutes later, armed with swords, bows and daggers. Dim morning light vaguely illuminated the nearly eight hundred men scattered beneath the creaking boughs like a horde of walking shadows. Soon they stepped out of the tree line into grassy, weed-choked terrain wet with morning dew. No torches were allowed on the march to Deshla prison located a mile away within the stony bowels of Mount Minakaris. The rocky peak loomed left amid a scattering of trees and streams. The Drusala River lay a short distance away on their right, barely visible in the murky light as it swept along in gentle undulations like a snake on a silent hunt.
“This grassy tract narrows between the mountain and the river the closer we get to Deshla,” Malek informed the company under his command. “We’ll encounter an old Enâri garrison along the water about a quarter mile before the prison. Scouting reports indicate no activity there. I doubt Vellan ever restaffed it after the Enâri were destroyed, unable to spare the troops. But I’m sure the other garrison in Del Norác is bursting with soldiers. Our task, however, is Deshla. I can only imagine how many troops are housed within.”
As they marched southeast, another stretch of woodland was visible less than a mile away beyond the garrison and the entrance to Deshla. But that swath of trees extending the narrow width between the river and the mountain was not very deep. It thinned out halfway between Deshla prison and the entrance to Vellan’s stronghold in Minakaris on its other side, offering a broad vista of Del Norác from its southern eaves.
Nicholas was on edge with every step, recalling how Ivy was forcibly removed from Brin Mota’s raft and taken away as Cale’s prisoner. Cold fear overwhelmed him as he imagined the possible harm inflicted upon her and the terror she must be feeling. Now, after a long winter, he was at last marching into the enemy’s lair. He forced himself to believe that Ivy was nearby and still alive. He hoped that he could rescue her so they could begin a new life together. If not, he wasn’t sure if life would be worth living.
Leo, walking next to him in the shadows, sensed the turmoil in Nicholas’ mind and searched for some encouraging words. But a slap on their backs from behind quickly changed the somber mood.
“There you are!” Hobin quietly said, their former guide and dear friend stepping in between the pair to catch up on the latest. “As I’ve been hobnobbing with Max and some of the others since last evening, I haven’t had time to see how you two were holding up.”
“On a steady cou
rse,” Leo said, his mood lifting. “Isn’t that right, Nicholas?”
“And finally getting somewhere,” he added as his brooding thoughts scattered.
“It’s been some rough going since we parted in the Dunn Hills,” Hobin said. “For you especially, Nicholas. Compared to you, Leo and I have had it easy lounging around the Blue Citadel while the snow fell.”
Nicholas smirked in the gloom. “I think that little incident with Leo and the Spirit Box might count for something comparable.”
Hobin nodded, scratching his head. “Yeah, there was that,” he said matter-of-factly. “Just make sure to watch each other’s back. I’d like to take you both on another hike one day when all this craziness is over. After I meet with Emma, of course.”
“Look forward to it,” Nicholas said, “if we survive the day.”
Hobin grunted with amusement. “That’s the spirit.”
But before they could comment further, exclamations of awe reverberated across the marching lines. Everyone craned their heads back and raised anxious eyes to the slate gray skies beyond the woods before them. High above the treetops to the southeast flew a brilliant arc of flame, streaming in their direction like a fiery serpent from myths of old. Moments later a second blazing spectacle followed along the same path, and then a third, each briefly igniting the dawn sky like thin, brilliant flashes of lightning. The signal from King Justin had been sent in spectacular fashion, indicating that the battle against Vellan’s forces in Del Norác had commenced. Now, with equal fire and fury, the raid on Deshla was ready to launch, too.
Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy) Page 160