Black Scarlet

by R A Oakes

  “Is there any chance the previous owner will come upon it?” General Zarkahn had asked.

  “None, we killed him.”

  “Good thinking.”

  As Rathlor admired his award, one of Lord Ridgewood’s warriors approached the old pirate informing him that another dignitary would be arriving shortly. “What a good omen,” the master of the castle said. “It seems that Swarenth has sent his chief ambassador to speak with us. We must stand firm and not give in easily to his terms. Swarenth wants a base of operations in this region quite badly.”

  Nothing could be further from the truth, which suited Lord Ridgewood just fine. In reality, it was he who had been begging Swarenth for years for help. When King Ulray Kardimont was in power, he had built Firecrest Castle to control the badlands and keep them free of scoundrels. The mountainous terrain had tended to be a hiding place for those seeking to escape the king’s justice. But when Swarenth had overrun Dominion Castle, he had no interest in sustaining a castle in such a remote region. Lacking necessary supplies, it had to be abandoned.

  Ever the opportunist, Ridgewood had led his now land- based pirates to Firecrest Castle and claimed it as their own. At first, they’d been satisfied with the desolate, mountainous area and felt lucky to be alive, which was understandable. King Ulray had been relentless in his quest to stamp out piracy having given orders to, “Hunt them down no matter where they run.” Ridgewood and his men had long grown tired of being chased by the crown’s warriors, and only Ulray Kardimont’s downfall had saved the grizzled, old pirate’s band of miserable rabble from extinction.

  Lord was a title Ridgewood had given to himself. The only thing royal about the old pirate was how he and his men royally mistreated others. But now the winds of change seemed to be smiling upon him. Skybrook Castle sought an end to his raids and was willing to strike a deal with him as soon as the Fighting Eagle was dead.

  It never occurred to Lord Ridgewood that General Zarkahn and Rathlor were giving up nothing. Had the former sea-going rogue ever launched a major assault on the eastern side of Lord Stallington’s domain, the first thing Zarkahn would have done was to pull everyone back behind the protection of the Tatalusa River. From there, he would have launched punitive expeditions in his own good time.

  But yielding ownership of the land east of the river is something Lord Stallington would never have done personally. He’d have sought to protect those working the land from losing their farms. Many were former warriors who’d been given their acreage as a reward for service to their lord. However, General Zarkahn, without Lord Stallington’s moderating influence, was turning the land into a purely tactical pawn in his overall scheme. Where the Fighting Eagle had fought to achieve not just victory but quality of life for his subjects, the general thought only in terms of strategic advantage. As such, he saw no reason to keep the land east of the river. To him, it was expendable.

  And now Swarenth had sent his chief ambassador to meet with them. The grizzled, old pirate was thinking, After the gargoyle warlord lends me his support, I’ll be the most powerful influence in the region. At that point, I’ll claim not just the land east of the Tatalusa River, but Skybrook Castle itself.

  Then, with the meeting over, Lord Ridgewood, General Zarkahn and Rathlor climbed the stairway to the top floor of the tower and watched the grim-faced traveler who was approaching.

  Exuding a sense of power and confidence, Swarenth’s senior ambassador, Valkira, rode through the entrance into Firecrest Castle. The journey to this remote mountain fortress had been a long one, but he hoped the trip would be worth the effort. Valkira felt that both Lord Ridgewood and his own master would benefit from an alliance. With Dominion Castle possessing wealth and Firecrest Castle being a good location from which to launch an assault on the western regions, the future lay waiting for them to grasp together. At least that’s what Valkira wanted Lord Ridgewood to believe, for now.

  Watching Valkira’s arrival, Lord Ridgewood and General Zarkahn were surprised to find Minister Rowkar riding next to the ambassador. The portly, older man was smiling away and talking with the ape-like creature as if they were old friends.

  “It looks like Minister Rowkar has been busy this morning,” General Zarkahn laughed. “Can you believe him? Riding out alone to greet a squad of hairy apes?”

  Before the day was out, however, General Zarkahn would be even more surprised. But this time he wouldn’t be laughing.

  Oh, he would cut a deal with Ambassador Valkira insuring that Lord Stallington’s son would be the new ruler of Skybrook Castle, and it was understood that Rathlor would be Zarkahn’s puppet, a mere figurehead. In turn, Swarenth would be granted full access to the mountain passes south of Skybrook Castle for a future invasion into Crystal Valley. Swarenth would also receive the general’s help in capturing Aerylln. As for Firecrest Castle, Lord Ridgewood would be pleased to learn that he’d be receiving support from Swarenth in the form of food, weapons and gold.

  But all would not be going as General Zarkahn had expected. Later, he’d be having a rather unpleasant conversation with Valkira.

  “Swarenth wants to meet with you and Rathlor. And he wants to see you immediately,” the ambassador would be informing him.

  “But I’d be away for weeks and could lose control of Skybrook Castle.”

  “This isn’t an invitation. It’s an order directly from Swarenth, himself.”

  “What about Minister Rowkar, must he go along?”

  “No, he can return to Skybrook Castle.”

  General Zarkahn would be thinking, Thank the gods. At least I’ll be able to send back instructions to my captains with him.

  Well, maybe, but maybe not. Unbeknownst to General Zarkahn, it had been Minister Rowkar’s idea for the general and Rathlor to return to Dominion Castle with Valkira.

  “Let them meet Lord Swarenth face to face. Let them see the might of Dominion Castle. Intimidate them, indoctrinate them, break them to Swarenth’s will.”

  “Sound advice,” the ambassador had conceded. “But why should you care about any of this?”

  “Oh, I grow weary of all the politics. I long for a place to write and meditate. Plus, Genevieve has never wanted to be Lady Skybrook, and Rathlor, well you can see that he’s unqualified. It would be a relief to get the uncertainty over with. Swarenth will end up being the undisputed ruler of all the lands that once belonged to King Ulray Kardimont. Why prolong the struggle? Why fight Swarenth’s will? ‘Tis folly to resist. It would only put off the inevitable.”

  Having never heard such wisdom from a human before, Ambassador Valkira was impressed and thought, Maybe this minister could be of some use to us.

  Taking off a signet ring bearing Swarenth’s seal, Valkira gave it to Minister Rowkar along with a sleeveless, gray tunic emblazoned with Swarenth’s emblem, black claw marks across the front.

  “When we do invade, and our warriors are storming the walls of Skybrook Castle, put on this shirt and show my ring. Also shout, ‘Griktas helm Swarenth!’ That will keep you safe.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I’m a friend of Swarenth.”

  “Then I’ll shout it proudly,” Minister Rowkar said acting the role of traitor for the second time. At Skybrook Castle, he’d appeared to shift his support from Genevieve to General Zarkahn. Now it seemed like he was switching his loyalty once more, this time from Zarkahn to Swarenth.

  Unaware of Minister Rowkar being, as Chen liked to call him, “a devious, old coot,” Ambassador Valkira smiled, pleased to have a reliable, well-placed spy at Skybrook Castle.

  But Minister Rowkar had never changed sides and remained devoted to Genevieve. However, one person did command greater loyalty from him. There was a rancher not far from Skybrook Castle who was like a son to him. Fortunately, Genevieve was taking an interest in this man as well.

  As Minister Rowkar began his journey home, he wasn’t only carrying top-secret dispatches from General Zarkahn but was now pretending to serve as Valkira�
�s man at Skybrook Castle. Plus, he’d just gotten rid of two of Genevieve’s strongest opponents. Rathlor and General Zarkahn would be gone for weeks, maybe longer, and that would give Chen time to undermine them.

  Minister Rowkar thought, I hope Chen finds these dispatches from General Zarkahn useful. Maybe we can even alter them to give his captains false orders.

  But in spite of all his successful efforts, there was something else that he wanted. And he wanted it most of all.

  He shouted to the empty land all around him, “When can my ‘son’ come forth and publicly claim his birthright? When can he throw off the guise of being a rancher and publicly assume the mantle of king?”

  Minister Rowkar paused, drew in a deep breath, stood in his stirrups and shouted, “Not much longer, Tarlen, I promise! Not much longer!”

  Chapter 8

  Hawthorn Village. Fifteen years ago. Tarlen is now twenty-one.

  Using a heavy thread, Captain Polaris was putting the finishing touches on a new pair of boots. He’d been the village shoemaker for years, having opened a shop right after the gargoyle attacked Janek, the blacksmith. Captain Polaris wanted to live closer to Tarlen Arandar and had built his shop next door to Janek’s.

  During the gargoyle attack, a bizarre incident had occurred. The hairy ape’s throat had been savagely ripped apart, which was something the captain had encountered only one other time.

  About five years before Swarenth overran Dominion Castle, an enemy had attacked Carplorthian. He and King Kardimont had been alone, much as Janek and Tarlen Arandar had been alone. When it was all over, the enemy’s neck had been snapped, and his head was half torn off. Carplorthian had refused to say what happened, and King Kardimont had kept his own counsel remaining silent as well. After that, the captain sometimes noticed Carplorthian and the king exchanging knowing smiles as if they shared a secret.

  Now it had happened again, this time with the king’s son.

  Captain Polaris had been well aware of King Ulray Kardimont’s fondness for big cats, especially tigers. The king had treated his big cats like family. But most of all, he was fond of a dozen tigers that had once been of great service to him. King Ulray never told anyone what they had done, only that it was an issue of life and death.

  When he’d become king, Ulray changed the Kardimont royal crest from a bolt of lightning grasped by a fist to one with the face of a tiger. The tiger crest had been put on everything including signet rings, clothes, weapons, armor, saddles, banners and the Kardimont’s flag. It had even been carved into the headboard of the king’s bed.

  King Ulray had become known as the Tiger of Dominion Castle, and there were those who said he’d etched the face of a tiger onto his soul, which wasn’t far from the truth.

  After the incident with the gargoyle in Janek’s blacksmith shop, Captain Polaris and his men all believed that the Tiger of Dominion Castle had returned, and this gave the warriors hope. They felt that Tarlen Arandar was indeed his father’s son. King Ulray had been one of the greatest kings of all time, and the unspoken pressure on Tarlen Arandar was that they expected him to be the same.

  If anyone could reclaim the castle from Swarenth for the Kardimont line, and for them all, it was the Tiger of Dominion Castle, or so they hoped. In their eyes, the entire future depended upon him.

  If Captain Polaris and his men had been fanatical about defending the boy king before the tiger attack, they were doubly so afterwards. The possibilities made their hearts burn with fire, and Tarlen Arandar’s persona had begun to take on an aura of mythical proportions, at least to them.

  Carplorthian had intended to have Janek play the role of Tarlen Arandar’s adopted father, but after the tiger attack, he wanted that role for himself. And everyone had agreed it was how King Ulray would have wanted it. Janek and his wife were now simply the boy king’s guardians, and the residents of Hawthorn Village had been told that Tarlen Arandar was Janek’s nephew.

  On a chain around Carplorthian’s neck, he wore a tiger claw that he’d found embedded in a wooden post in the blacksmith shop’s backroom. Coincidentally, Tarlen Arandar was missing one of his fingernails, and the tip of his finger had been bloodied. The boy couldn’t remember how it happened, or so he’d said.

  Everyone believed the claw to be the young king’s missing fingernail, and they were right.

  Carplorthian loved Tarlen Arandar as much as he’d loved King Ulray, and as the boy grew in both years and size, the king’s chief aide had become increasingly alarmed. Tarlen Arandar was growing up to look like his father, and not just a family resemblance. As the boy grew into manhood, he’d become the spitting image of Ulray.

  Carplorthian realized something had to be done after some of Captain Polaris’ men began breaking down in tears at the mere sight of Tarlen Arandar. These warriors had been King Ulray’s elite fighting unit and as such had a particularly strong allegiance to him. Seeing their dead king coming to life again through his son was more than they could bear, and the men had wept with unrestrained grief.

  If it had become obvious to the men, Carplorthian figured it would eventually become obvious to everyone else, even to a gargoyle passing through Hawthorn Village. Luckily, Tarlen Arandar had provided his own solution. It turned out that, along with his father’s good looks, he had inherited his father’s heavy beard. Given that King Ulray Kardimont had always been clean-shaven, Carplorthian simply had the young man grow a beard.

  If Carplorthian had his way, the young king would have worn a beard so bushy and long that it would have covered his face, chest and grown down to his knees. But Captain Polaris had gradually reined in the portly gentleman’s fears and convinced him to allow Tarlen Arandar to wear a beard that was neatly trimmed. However, young women had then started noticing the young king, and this gave his chief aide something else to worry about.

  Now, as Tarlen Arandar sat with the shoemaker, Captain Polaris, who was putting a few finishing stitches on a new pair of boots, the young king was considered by most people in the village to be quite handsome. And in just a few days, he would turn 21.

  “That’s a really great looking pair of boots. They should fetch a good price,” Tarlen Arandar said.

  “Well, spending the last 15 years being a shoemaker has taught me a thing or two.”

  “They’re the nicest boots I’ve ever seen.”

  “Do you think they’re fit for a king on his 21st birthday, sire?”

  “Yes, I believe they are,” Tarlen Arandar said excitedly.

  He reached to put one on, but the shoemaker snatched the boots away from his master. “Your birthday isn’t for a few days yet, my lord.”

  “Can’t I even try them on?”

  “When have I ever made a pair of boots for you that didn’t fit perfectly?”

  “Well, yes, they’ve always fit before, but don’t you want to be sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Captain Polaris laughed.

  Just then, Carplorthian entered the shop. At 30 years old, he’d been portly. Now, at 45, he was heavier still. If teased about the size of his belly, he’d say, “I’m a good cook, and I like to eat. When it gets to the point that you’ll have to widen the doorways for me, then I’ll go on a diet. But not before.”

  Secretly, Carplorthian hoped they’d be living back at Dominion Castle before that day came. It had nice, wide doorways.

  The young king jumped up to greet Carp or Fish, as Tarlen Arandar still called him. When his chief aide worried at times that they might be caught, the young king would always say, “I don’t think we have too much to worry about. Some fish are harder to catch than others, especially a Carp.”

  Tarlen Arandar said the very same thing the day they’d escaped from Dominion Castle. And Carplorthian would always answer, as he had on that fateful day, “Thanks for having confidence in me.”

  To which Tarlen Arandar would always reply, just as he had before, “I’ve always believed in you, Carp, and I always will.”

  Their bond was indisputable
.

  Now in the captain’s shoe shop, the young king said, “Carp, look at the nice boots Captain Polaris made.”

  “Hmmm,” the portly aide said as he inspected the well- crafted boots. “These should fetch a good price.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Well, you’re right. And it’s a good thing, too. The new land we bought didn’t come cheap, I can tell you that. We can use the extra money.”

  Both Tarlen Arandar and Captain Polaris laughed. To listen to Carp, you’d think they didn’t have a penny to their name. But when they’d left Dominion Castle, three warriors had each ridden with a canvas bag strapped to the back of his saddle. Two bags had been filled with gold coins and the other with precious jewels. Money wasn’t a problem, but Carp treated each coin as if it were their last.

  However, the self-proclaimed skinflint had put the money to good use.

  Years ago, the king’s chief aide had bought several farms whose land bordered Hawthorn Village. Also, Carplorthian had the men build structures on the farms that, on the outside, looked like barns but in reality were very large homes. A lot of room was needed to accommodate the over 100 warriors under Captain Polaris’ command, and to hide them. That many men would have attracted attention. They no longer wore uniforms or carried weapons, but the men were so battle- hardened that they didn’t exactly look like farmers either.

  After the gargoyle attack, Carplorthian also had the men build a one-room schoolhouse in the village, and he assumed the role of schoolmaster. This served two purposes. It allowed him to be nearer Tarlen Arandar, and it enabled the children in Hawthorn Village, and on the surrounding farms, to receive a solid education.

  The small schoolhouse attracted little attention from any of Swarenth’s warriors who rode through the village, which was good because the insignificant-looking building hid something very important. It was built right on top of Captain Polaris’ armory. He and his men had amassed a considerable number of swords, spears, shields, crossbows, helmets and armored chest plates.