The King’s lead valet, accompanied by several other servants, stood at the entrance to the dining hall. Standing tall, the valet announced, “My lords and ladies, the King is ready for you. Please enter and be seated.”
The valet motioned to the servants who led the guests into the dining hall and sat them at the King’s massive oak table. Torches protruding from the dining hall’s stone walls produced a calming haze of blue smoke that lingered over their heads. As was the custom, the Batar sat on the table’s eastern side, nearest to their homeland in the eastern mountains. The Tolls sat on the table’s western side, facing the Batar. The Tiebers filled the seats on the table’s southern end. Tacmar sat at the table’s head, with Tristan and Addison to his left and Aiden, the Royal Physician, to his right. Aiden’s three apprentices, Baer, Marle-Marja, and Ulric, filled the remaining seats at the head of the table.
“Welcome everyone,” Tacmar announced. “Unfortunately, Gabrielle is still not well enough to attend tonight’s feast. She sends her warmest regards.”
“To the Queen,” Seric announced rising to his feet, goblet held high. “To our blessed Queen. May she recover quickly!”
Everyone rose and drank to the Queen’s health.
“You are most kind,” Tacmar continued as everyone retook their seats.
Pointing toward the far end of the dining hall, Tacmar clapped his hands three times and shouted a hearty, “Let the feast begin!”
Eight male servants, walking in perfect cadence, two-by-two, entered the dining hall. They carried platters of sliced deer meat, roasted pig, bear meat, and assorted fruits and vegetables. A loud, spontaneous, roaring applause of approval echoed across the dining hall as the food was placed on the table. Soon, all of the platters were empty, as were several of the King’s finest barrels of ale.
“Sire,” Marle-Marja stated between bites of an apple. “I have made a remarkable discovery.”
“What is it?” Tacmar asked with genuine interest. “You never cease to amaze me.”
“A potion that repels insects,” Marle-Marja announced proudly, holding up a vial of blue ointment. “You rub it onto your skin and the insects leave you alone.”
“Well done,” Tacmar announced. “Well done, indeed.”
Marle-Marja bowed his head slightly and leaned back into his seat with a look of sweet contentment on his face.
“What have you been working on?” Tacmar asked Baer. “Anything exciting?”
“A hand water pump,” Baer answered. “For inside the home. My goal is to enable everyone to have running water within their home.”
“Excellent,” Tacmar stated, obviously impressed. “Keep me informed of your progress.”
“Of course,” Baer answered.
Tacmar turned toward Ulric and asked, “And you? What are you working on?”
Ulric sat stoically at the table’s edge, his face totally devoid of emotion. His eyes, partially obscured by his hooded robe, seemed to reach across the table and into the hearts of everyone he looked at. It was said that he could read people’s minds. But only children really believed that. Nevertheless, everyone at the table looked away whenever his eyes met theirs.
“A powder,” Ulric answered. “I have been experimenting with a mixture of sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter. When ignited, the powder generates a great deal of heat and black smoke. I hope to harness its power and use it as a propellant.”
“Interesting,” Tacmar replied, not quite understanding why anyone might be interested in a powder that caused a lot of black smoke. “Keep me informed.”
“Of course,” Ulric answered.
Just then, the castle’s musicians entered the dining hall and played several arrangements written especially for the occasion. They received a standing ovation. All seemed well as the guests leaned back in their chairs and lit their pipes, signaling the beginning of the recounting of great tales of personal and tribal heroism. Tales of horrors escaped and evil defeated wrapped themselves around the table like a warm woolen blanket on a cold winter’s night.
The evening sky had just started to lighten when Skye rose from his seat and signaled for silence. Holding his goblet high above his head he shouted, “To the King! Long live the King!”
All of the guests rose together as one and drank to the King’s good health.
“The morning is nearly upon us,” Skye announced, turning toward the King. “But before we leave, I have a parting gift from our people to Prince Conor.”
He held up three knives, each with a beautifully embossed golden handle.
“A Tolls’ knife for each of the prince’s three stages of life,” he stated proudly. “First, a small, light blade for childhood. Next, a throwing knife, strong enough to survive the rigors of youth. And, finally, a Tolls’ hunting knife. Strong enough to withstand any blow and sharp enough to cut any enemy who would dare cross his path. It will last him his entire lifetime. These three knives we, the Tolls, give to Prince Conor in honor of his birth and as symbolic gesture of our goodwill, loyalty, and everlasting friendship and allegiance.”
A deafening roar of approval swept across the dining hall as Skye handed the knives to the King. Tacmar wrapped his arms around his old friend, in a warm embrace. As Skye returned to his seat, Seric stood, signaling for recognition.
“The Tolls’ gift is very fine, indeed,” Seric announced loudly, pausing just long enough to stroke his short, bristly beard. “But we have an even finer gift.”
Seric walked over to a large wooden crate behind his seat, lifted its lid, reached in, and pulled out a wooden bow and a quiver full of golden arrows.
“Solid gold!” he shouted, holding the arrows high over his head.
Seric smiled broadly as he attached the back of one of the arrows to the bow string. Raising the bow to shoulder height, he turned to face the King, drew back on the bow string, and shot the arrow straight across the room, striking the King in the chest.
“This is our gift to you!” he shouted as the King’s lifeless body slumped forward.
Chapter 3
DEATH AND DESTRUCTION
Jacob woke up with a throbbing headache. Rubbing his forehead with his right hand, he realized that he was at home, in bed, but he still had his work clothes on. He had no idea how he got there. The last thing he remembered was sharing drinks with two fishermen. Someone, he realized, had put him to bed. Fearing the worse, he quickly looked around his room. Everything seemed to be where it ought to be. Nothing seemed to be missing. That was good. But what about the inn?
“Oh no!” he thought to himself, realizing that he had left the inn’s cash drawer unattended.
With some effort, he pulled himself out from under his warm, woolen blanket and slid his legs over the side of his bed. The wooden floorboards felt cold, rough, and uninviting to his bare feet. Nevertheless, he leaned forward and forced himself to stand. At that very moment, three giant black horseflies flew in through his bedroom’s open-air window and buzzed around his head.
“Get away!” he shouted, slapping at the horseflies. “Damn bugs! Get away from me!”
Taking another swing at the horseflies, he lost his balance and nearly fell. Grabbing onto his bedpost, his stomach lurched. The room began to spin.
“Oh no!” he groaned, his stomach twisting into a giant knot.
A sharp, piercing pain spread quickly across his abdomen. Clutching his aching stomach, he threw up. Vomit oozed slowly across the wooden floorboards, forming a grotesque, oblong puddle of putrid, half-digested food and ale. Disgusted, he closed his eyes, sat back down onto his bed, and hoped that the pain would go away. After a moment or two, the knot in his stomach loosened. Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and staggered across the floor to his dresser. A deep, oval-shaped washbasin, filled to brim with clean, mountain stream water, sat on the dresser. Reaching into the washbasin with both hands, he scooped up a handful of water and splashed it onto his face. The water helped to chase away his drowsiness, but he still felt miserable.
“Never again,” he thought, reaching for a sliver of soap.
After washing his hands and face, he dunked his entire head into the washbasin. Dripping wet, he reached for a bone-handled razor and thought about shaving, but he could not steady his hands.
“Later,” he thought, placing the razor back onto his dresser.
After a bit of a struggle, he managed to remove his shirt, pants, and underclothes. Tossing them aside, he found a set of clean clothes in his dresser. Still unsteady on his feet, he had to sit on the floor to get his underwear and socks on. After putting on his shirt and pants, he looked around for his shoes. It took him a while to find them. One was under his bed. The other was hiding under a pile of dirty clothes. Now fully dressed, he headed for the door separating his bedroom from the inn’s dining room. As he reached to open the door, a dozen giant black horseflies flew through his bedroom’s open-air window and into his room. They circled the still warm, oozing puddle of vomit on the floor, landed, and joined their three companions who were already eating their fill.
Jacob opened the door. The dining room was a mess. Chairs were strewn haphazardly across the floor and several tables had been knocked over. One table was upside down and had a long, jagged crack running from its far left corner to its center. The room smelled of urine.
“Damn!” he shouted angrily as he walked across the dining room, picking up several chairs as he went. “What a mess!”
He quickly headed for the wooden serving bar and looked for the cash drawer. It was missing.
“Damn!” he repeated. “I knew it. I just knew it.”
Walking over to the inn’s front door, he noticed that it had been left ajar. Opening the door all the way, he used a wooden doorstop to keep it open; signaling that the inn was now open for business. He then did an about-face and began cleaning up the dining room. After picking up all of the tables and chairs he got down on his hands and knees and scrubbed clean several foul-smelling stains on the floor. Satisfied with the dining room’s cleanliness, and having no customers, he went to the cellar to check on his kegs. He couldn’t remember how much ale he had sold the previous day and because the front door had been left unlocked he worried that someone might have stolen some kegs during the night. There was nothing worse in an innkeeper’s life than running out of ale.
As he started the keg count, a high-pitched, panicked voice shouted from the top of the cellar’s stairs, “Jacob! Where are you? Are you down there?”
Jacob shouted up the stairs, “Who is that?”
“It’s Breanna!” the voice shouted down the stairs.
Recognizing his niece’s voice, Jacob shouted, “What’s the matter?”
Breanna raced down the stairs. Her face was pale as a ghost.
“What is it?” Jacob asked. “What’s wrong?”
Her hands shook with fright.
“They say that the King and Queen have been murdered!” she blurted out, tears rolling down her face and falling to the cellar’s dirt floor. “They say that Aiden is dead too!”
Jacob grabbed her by her arms, gave her a good, hard shake, and looked her straight in the eye.
“Who told you that?” he shouted. “This better not be a joke.”
Breanna sobbed uncontrollably. Between sobs, she blurted out, “The Batar are everywhere. There are hundreds of them. They are going door-to-door. We’re all going to be killed!”
The sound of clanging swords echoed throughout the castle.
“This way,” Baer shouted over his shoulder as he raced down the hall toward the nursery. “We have to save him!”
Entering the nursery, he found a very frightened wet nurse cradling Conor in her arms.
“What’s going on?” she asked in a near panic as Baer, Marle-Marja, and Ulric gathered around her. “I hear people screaming.”
Ignoring her question, Baer took Conor from her arms and wrapped him in a blanket.
“What are you doing?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “You can’t come in here and just take him. You don’t have the authority …”
“Run for your life,” Baer stated as he headed for the door with Conor pressed tightly against his chest. “Get out of the castle and keep running until you can’t run anymore. Then, find someplace to hide. They will be looking for the Prince, which means that they will be looking for you.”
Baer raced down the corridor, with Marle-Marja and Ulric at his heels. He headed straight for the King’s bedchamber.
“There is a secret passageway behind a tapestry hanging on the rear wall,” he called out. “Aiden told me about it long ago. It will take us to the back of the castle.”
Entering the King’s bedchamber, Baer raced over to a large ornate tapestry hanging on the rear wall. Reaching behind the tapestry, he pushed hard against a rectangular stone marked with a small blue star. A section of the stone wall rolled back, revealing a narrow, rickety, wooden staircase that headed down, into darkness. Baer hurried down the stairs, cradling Conor in his arms. Marle-Marja and Ulric followed. About halfway down, Marle-Marja slipped and fell, scraping his knee against the stone wall. Helping him to his feet, Ulric led him down the dark staircase. Baer was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. He was standing in front of a very large, wooden door, bolted shut from the inside. Handing Conor to Ulric, Baer removed the wooden plank securing the door shut and pushed the door open just far enough to peek outside. A thick grove of raspberry bushes blocked his view.
“Stay here,” Baer stated, squeezing thorough the partially open door. “I’m going to take a look around to see if it’s safe.”
Marle-Marja and Ulric waited anxiously as Baer dropped down onto his hands and knees and crawled through the bushes. After what seemed like an eternity, Baer reappeared.
“There is a dirt path on the other side of these bushes,” Baer stated. “It leads to a fork that splits the path in two. One path leads back toward the village. The other leads to the northern plains. This could be our only chance. The path to the plains is surrounded by raspberry and blueberry bushes. There is no way that anyone will see us.”
Closing the door behind them, they crawled through the bushes, got to their feet, and, with Ulric holding Conor tight, started down the path at a fast trot. Reaching the fork, Baer glanced back at the castle, knowing that it was probably the last time that he would ever see his home.
Seeing that Marle-Marja was nearing exhaustion, Baer looked for a good place to rest.
“Let’s take a break,” Baer called out as he approached several very tall raspberry bushes. “This looks like as good a place as any other.”
“Just a short rest,” Baer continued. “Then, we have to get moving again. We should reach the outer farmlands by nightfall and, hopefully, find some horses. We will then ride to the north as fast as we can and find a Tolls village or campsite. The Tolls will fight for Conor. They are his best chance for survival.”
Marle-Marja, sweat pouring down his face, stared at him, as if to say that he wasn’t going anywhere.
“You can do this,” Baer told him. “I know that you can.”
Marle-Marja looked down at his bruised and bloody right leg. Someone had stabbed him during the fight in the dining hall.
“I don’t know if I can keep up,” Marle-Marja answered, tightening the cloth bandage on his leg.
“You can do this,” Baer repeated.
“If I can’t,” Marle-Marja replied. “I want you to leave me behind. Save the baby.”
“We are all going to be fine,” Baer responded. “No more talk about being left behind.”
They fell silent as a cool breeze, carrying the pungent fresh odors of the surrounding farmlands, caressed their faces. The knee-high grass swayed gently in the breeze. Orange songbirds flew by chasing one another across the grass. Bright yellow dandelions dotted the landscape and blue and violet crocuses heralded spring’s arrival. It would have been a wonderful place to have a picnic, if no one was trying to kill you.
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��When we start again,” Baer stated, looking at Ulric. “I want you to take the lead. You are the most physically fit. I want you to set the pace. It’s up to the two of us to keep up with you. If we fall behind, take the baby and keep moving. Don’t wait for us. Marle-Marja is right. Saving Conor is our first and only priority. We will catch up to you when we can. We have to do whatever it takes to get him to safety.”
Ulric thought about protesting, but he could see the determination on Baer’s face.
“Okay,” Ulric answered as he stood up, bent over, and lifted Conor into his arms. “Since I am in charge now, I say that it’s time to go.”
Baer helped Marle-Marja to his feet and they followed Ulric as he walked briskly up the path. As they marched on, the raspberry and blueberry bushes began to thin out and then, suddenly, they were gone; replaced by an endless sea of tall, undulating grass and wildflowers. As they continued on, their shadows grew longer and longer as the sun headed toward the western horizon. Ulric’s brisk, steady pace was exhausting, but Baer and Marle-Marja managed to keep up.
“I know where we are,” Ulric stated as they climbed a grass-covered hill. “There are several farms over that ridge.”
“Excellent,” Marle-Marja stated. “I don’t know if Conor was fed this morning. So, in addition to finding some horses, we need to get him some goat’s milk. He really needs a wet nurse, but that will have to do for now.”
Ulric stopped in his tracks and faced Marle-Marja.
“I don’t have any children,” he stated. “But everyone knows that newborns cry a lot. To the best of my knowledge, he has not cried out once since we left the castle this morning. Are you sure that he’s alright? That is not normal.”
Marle-Marja quickly examined Conor from head-to-toe.
“He seems perfectly fine to me,” Marle-Marja replied.
Ulric took Conor into his arms, gave him a warm, loving hug, and started off again, heading north. Baer and Marle-Marja followed close behind. As they continued on, Conor rested his head on Ulric’s shoulder, removed his arms from the blanket, and hugged him back. In their haste, none of them noticed the hug, not even Ulric.
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