"Prince Estes. Your presence is not needed nor wanted here." Navir moved toward the prince who backed away and then walked away, muttering.
"That may cause him to harden against you," said Wynne.
"I hardly care. He is much like his father and listens to few. The glory times for Nantitet are long in the past. Yeates even banished the one man in Nantitet I trust."
"Do you mean Tagera? He spoke wisely I thought but I had little direct dealing with him."
"Yes. I have known him for years and learned to trust his judgment. He is the rare man whose eyes see clearly."
"Tagera's crime was speaking against Baron Treteste," said Wynne. "He told Yeates of the deceitful nature of Treteste but Yeates would not hear it. He needed the Baron's support too much to retain his crown and dared nothing that would jeopardize his tenuous hold on his crown."
"I hope Yeates does not live to regret that choice."
"Treteste is a difficult man, but he always proved loyal."
"Loyal as far as your experience tells you. Treteste is a long thinker and is not impatient. One thing about being a Daerlan; our plans move slowly as time. Careful work but thorough work and always successful. I can recognize patterns of planning and this Baron is no fool."
"You think Treteste has planned long against King Yeates?"
"That is what Tagera confirmed to me and I believe him. Tagera has long been a man of integrity and his heart is true. Yeates is not a bad man, just overmatched for his position. He should never have taken the throne."
"But he does have de Arayr blood."
"A trickle of blood and gains no strength from it. Royal blood does not guarantee a wise ruler. My people know that all too well. There are Arayr descendants with better claims to the throne."
"But no one came forward."
"True. I cannot guess the reasons that Men do things or even Zidar for that matter and it is the Zidar blood of the de Arayr heirs that carries the most weight."
"Can you tell if a person is Zidar or human?"
"Sometimes, but the Zidar must be full blood somewhere in their bloodline. Almost all the pureblood Zidar have died out or interbred with Men. The Zidar were a small isolated tribe of Men to begin with - they were the priests of Cothos."
"Did you know Mauran de Arayr?"
"What a question Wynne. How old do you think I am?"
"You have told me Daerlan live hundreds or thousands of years. But I wasn't asking you if you knew Mauran in the distant past. There are stories that he still walks Landermass to this day."
"I cannot answer your question. There are many things you cannot know."
"Cannot? Why not?"
"It is not permitted and I did not make the rules."
"Who did?"
"I cannot say. Perhaps one day."
"That sounds mysterious and probably will prompt me to dream up things far more wild than what the truth is."
"Perhaps. Come tell me of life in Nantitet."
"Exciting but suffocating. Travelling outside the city brought me to life again."
"Glad to hear it."
"I hadn't realized how much I need to walk under the branches of the trees."
"Ah, it is important I think."
"Yes it is. Also I thought the hawks flying over us were trying to talk to me."
"Hawks? What were they saying?"
"Warning me of something. I like talking with you. You didn't question my sanity about hearing birds talk. You just accepted it."
"Perhaps because we Daerlan talk to many animals. It does not seem outlandish."
They talked long into the night.
Wynne awoke the next morning and found Navir in the kitchen eating warm muffins.
"Good morning Navir. Found your favorite place in the household?"
"Ah, yes. Fresh muffins just sing to me."
"Something's been singing to me," said Wynne. "I have a deep foreboding today."
"The threat is near?"
"I believe so. I wish I could decipher it, it's frustrating." She held up her hand and it began to shake. She looked at Navir who pursed his lips.
"I do not know how to guide you with this. Come have a muffin."
Wynne smiled and picked up one of the warm muffins and began to eat. When they were finished they left the kitchen with the plan to explore the castle.
Shouting rose up in the corridors and they rushed outside. Soldiers ran everywhere as they moved into position on the parapet.
"What's happening?" cried Wynne.
"We are under attack!" replied a soldier.
"Whose colors?" asked Navir.
"Baron Treteste."
Wynne looked at Navir. He opened his hands helplessly. Looked across the fields to the forest where dozens of shapes moved among the trees. A company of foot soldiers with ladders approached from the south. Archers launched arrows to rain down on the battlements to allow the soldiers to reach the walls. Among the mounted knights Baron Treteste sat on his horse gesturing to the men around him. Runners went to each company of soldiers delivering Treteste's orders. Rilar's archers tried to hit the runners but concentrated their arrows on the approaching soldiers.
"Why do those men stay in the trees?" asked Wynne. "Most of the soldiers are moving forward."
"They are engaged in some endeavor. It's hard to see past the shadows of the branches but they are assembling something. Might be siege weapons of some kind."
"Have you been in a siege before?" asked Wynne.
"Yes I have," said Navir. "Do not worry we will escape. We will leave Yeates and Treteste to their own devices."
"Treteste will win. Yeates doesn't stand a chance without my help."
"Wynne, are you prepared to take lives? You will have to kill soldiers to defeat Treteste."
"No, I don't want that."
"Let's see how well Rilar defends his home. Treteste is slippery, I expect he has spies and knows all of Rilar's escape routes. We must be watchful and choose our time well. In the meanwhile I will setup a hospital in the main hall. I expect to be busy in short order."
Chapter 2
The edge of the arrow creased his shoulder, pulling the skin until it could no longer withstand the tension and ripped diagonally into his deltoid, spilling blood on his clean white tunic. Estes stood in shock for a moment, until the sharp pain began to well up, and he dropped his sword.
"Estes!" cried his father, King Yeates. "Get back from the parapet! Are you all right?" The king ran to him, sword in hand. The prince held up his hand. Estes straightened up to greet his father. The clatter of swords rose around them. Soldiers ran to their positions along the walls. Archers aimed and fired with direction, a frantic waste of weapons, killing some attackers but ineffective against the attack. Minutes passed before the captain could gain their attention to focus on crucial areas of the invading army. Arrows rattled off armor and ladders reached for the battlements. The voice of Lord Rilar rallied his men. He commanded the king's men too and they responded to his sharp voice.
"A flesh wound, no more," Estes spoke crisply although his face paled. A healer examined the arm. The soldier next to him died with an arrow in the eye. Estes looked at the body of Tobrar, a soldier he knew, leaning against him and disfigured by the arrow. Tobrar shuddered before he died and Estes held him as he died.
"The Prince is correct, sire," said Halar. "It will heal cleanly, but it will need the attentions of Navir to staunch the flow of blood. Prince Estes should not continue fighting until that is done lest he bleeds out."
Estes frowned. The defenders pushed two ladders from the edge. They fell heavily upon their comrades below driving them into the hard ground. Curses rose over the broken ladders. Arrows rained on the parapets from Baron Treteste's army surrounding the castle.
"Can you fight?" asked King Yeates. He began to feel a twinge of desperation creep into his bones. He detested sieges. He used to wake up in the darkness of night escaping the nightmare of dying in a siege. Now, it tightened around him
. It proved difficult to concentrate.
"Yes, of course. I just need to wrap it to stop the blood. I shall have Navir do it, won't be long. Save some of the Baron's men for me to kill." He grinned as he walked away. An arrow rattled on the stones next to him and he found a brisker pace off the wall.
The king shook his head and turned away, watching the preparations of the army surrounding his castle, cursing under his breath. He had ridden from his capital, Nantitet, to the small castle at Stormridge, two and a half days upriver. He had given his people perhaps two days of notice to prepare for the trip. How could an army of two hundred men be waiting for him? With the thirty soldiers that traveled with him and Rilar's soldiers, a hundred knights and soldiers defended the castle, but the odds were not in his favor.
His scouts and spies had been devoid of news and he believed he could always rely on his most trusted vassal, Baron Treteste, despite the accusations of Tagera. Tagera himself was once a trusted noble until he spoke ill of Treteste. So why was Treteste's army lurking just out of bowshot? He could see Treteste's colors under the trees. He saw the colors of Kirkes, Treteste's vassal, and the greatest knight that ever lived, unbeatable in the field. He wished Kirkes would betray the Baron but the knight was a man of honor. Kirkes' honor made him a great ally and if he broke vows then he would not be the warrior the king desired and feared. Kirkes called his men to him. He unsheathed his huge sword twirling it in the sunlight. His men unleashed a great yell, joined in by others, their ranks swelling and the noise rolling toward the castle. Yeates cursed again.
"Everything is going so evilly, suddenly. Why did I not believe Tagera?"
Yeates briefly thought about his wife, four years in the grave and their three stillborn children. Only Estes had been strong enough to survive, but he did not appear to have the gifts necessary to rule. Perhaps that is why Treteste is making a bid for the throne. He shook his head. Treteste wanted the power for himself that had to the reason behind his move. It was an awkward time for Estes. He will soon mature and make a fine king. Yeates repeated that over and over to himself and almost walked into an arrow screaming over the wall. One of his archers boldly pulled him down to the walkway. Yeates nearly demanded the man's head for touching him, but common sense took over, letting the offense pass. He had so few men to send against Treteste.
"Surely someone should have seen the archer creep to within range of the king," said Rilar to his captain. "Make sure everyone is alert, our very lives depend on it." Lord Rilar of Stormridge was a large man, heavy of muscle; his intelligence offset by his close-set eyes and red nose.
"Look!" said a soldier.
Approaching on the forest road, rolling out from the area where Wynne had seen activity the previous day were wooden towers mounted on wheels. Soldiers labored behind the towers pushing them over the terrain.
"Siege engines!" cried Yeates. "He pushes for a short siege. Look at the positive side Rilar, Treteste would not let us starve; he has not the patience."
"He will find a bloody battle coming." Rilar hurried off to prepare his defenses.
Yeates flexed his old muscles searching for the strength to wield his sword.
He climbed the parapet, walking behind the archers, encouraging them, and shouting curses at Treteste. He kept moving, not risking an arrow in his direction, until he had completed the circuit of the outer wall. A page came and told him they could not find his sorceress.
"Where have you looked?"
"Everywhere, Sire. I even checked with Navir and he had not seen her."
"Have you searched the upper battlements or the tower?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Search them again! I need her found and now! Go! Go!" Yeates watched the page run. He felt the pressure in his chest again.
Crossing the bailey to the inner tower, he found Rilar.
"We are vastly overmatched," said Rilar. "I can see the siege towers beyond the trees, waiting to be called. Four or five. They planned for weeks. They had to-those towers would've taken days to build. My scouts have betrayed me; they could not have missed the construction of the towers. Treteste has his filthy fingers everywhere. Their front lines are three men deep and more arrive each hour. I have tried to send messengers to Nantitet, but I have seen them cut down before they could reach the forest. Treteste has prepared too well. An arrow took a pigeon a quarter hour ago. I am saving my last one."
"Your escape route?" asked King Yeates. "Is it clear?"
"Treteste's men wait outside the tunnel exit. I do not know how he found out all he did, but he is not planning on your escape. We will have to fight to live and fight to die."
The king was silent, trembling with rage. Treteste had foreseen everything! The only option was to make the Baron pay dearly for his betrayal.
"Why did he do this?" asked the king, his knuckles white from his grip on his sword.
"I do not know," said Rilar. "But I heard rumors that he has a new counselor this past winter, a man named Mortic. I do not know where he is from, but it is said the man is foreign to Calendia. Tagera may have found more out before you banished him."
Yeates' head jerked at that remark, but he said nothing.
"Tagera thought Mortic a Mordyn man," said Yeates.
"That makes no sense. Mordyn is quiet and it is far away. I fear the closer threat from Wierland."
"Wierland? There are rumblings from there. Their situation is so bad they might risk invading us to feed and clothe their people. I do not know who is in charge, now. After the old king died and his nephew disappeared, Armas and council took over the government of Wierland. Armas must be eighty by now. He is still too smart to deal with Treteste."
"I cannot say," said Rilar. "However, most Wierlandians look like us. I believe this Mortic to be from Mordyn. He is said to have orange skin."
"Mordyn? What would the desert people want so far from their home?"
"The world is changing. There is little food in the desert, and perhaps it grows less. Perhaps Wierland and Mordyn have much in common."
"I see. How did Treteste pull this off? He has no interest for details or brilliant planning. I am very interested in this Mortic."
"You think then, that Treteste is under the man's influence rather than Treteste acting on his own?" asked Rilar.
"What else could it be? He was such a loyal vassal."
"Personal gain," said Rilar. "Power."
"As common as that?" murmured the king. "Tagera was right about Treteste. And I called Tagera a fool." He looked out over the bailey. "Are we supplied for a siege?"
"Yes. However, there is only food enough for the population of Stormridge for a sustained siege. Your thirty robust knights may be a strain for our stores. With the additional men I figure about two months at the most with severe water rationing."
"You will have to make it last. Treteste will not allow us to escape. You will be counted among his enemies I'm afraid. Supporting me may cost your life. Look, more riders join the Baron."
"Another forty at least," said Rilar. "Lord Bayton, I think."
The red helmets rose into view beyond the lines of Baron Treteste's army. The Baron swung his horse to meet the newcomers. Lord Bayton dismounted and kneeled before Treteste.
Y
eates clenched his teeth, afraid of the bile that would come out. Betrayed! Betrayed! They will pay; they will all pay! I will have revenge!
"We need a plan, Rilar. How can we hold out with limited stores?"
"We cannot last more than two months. After a month we shall feel the effect of rationing."
"Therefore we attack before we are weakened."
"Attack, sire? We are undermanned."
"Undermanned, but each man still has his strength. Determine the weakest point in his siege and attack it with every man. Some will break through to freedom."
"The rest will die."
"Better some than all!" snapped Yeates, his eyes flashing.
"Yes, sire." Rilar did not look at his king. His eyes sc
anned the lines of Treteste looking for such a weak place. He sighed. Yeates walked away muttering to himself.
Wynne watched the developments below her. A siege! The warnings from the hawks are now clear. Once Baron Treteste tried to buy her from King Yeates, but the king told him no before Wynne could explain in great depth that she was owned by no one. She often found it difficult to reign in her temper.
She protested to the king to leave her in Nantitet. He would not relent. He said he felt safer when she was present. Most importantly the book needed to be protected and could not be left in Nantitet. Like a fool, she believed him. She saw a hawk fly overhead, its cry snapping her head upward. She felt a bitter tug on her heart as she watched the graceful creature soar on the air currents. She yearned to fly. She always cherished that feeling since her childhood but did not know why.
She touched her power, keeping it close. She had never used it to take a life and vowed she never would. Yeates had asked her to consider it. She refused to become a weapon, but now her power may be the only way to stay alive. She might not have time to consider it. She needed to speak to Navir.
Navir proved a steady friend; always ready to listen to her. She felt close to him and attracted by his alien countenance. Navir was a Daerlan. His ageless features filled with cunning at every question she asked of him. He had an unlimited capacity for listening and sympathy. She thought of him often.
She found him in the great hall tending the wounded. She started to enter but saw a familiar figure walking toward Navir. Wynne stepped back into the shadows.
Estes walked into the great hall, where the other wounded waited for treatment. Navir, the Daerlan, attended to many soldiers. He turned toward the prince, grey eyes widening.
"Prince Estes! Are you injured badly?"
"No, Navir. But I need it tightly wrapped to stop the bleeding. It goes evilly for us."
The Daerlan nodded his head, thinking about his errand that the king had denied. The return of a book to the Daerlan, a small thing, yet King Yeates would not part with the Faerion, although it was useless to him. Navir's father had told him the book's power had many uses. Its return could help heal many wounds, not the least his own.
The Faerion Page 2