by R A Oakes
The blacksmith shop in the village wasn’t the only forge in the area. Every farm that was owned by Captain Polaris and his men, on behalf of the king, had one. The only smithy not making weapons of war was Janek, and though he stuck to peacetime pursuits, everyone else prepared for war. No one knew when it was coming, but eventually the time would be right to take back Dominion Castle, and they wanted to be ready.
An important part of winning any war is strategy. Over the years, Captain Polaris and his men had become highly impressed with Carplorthian’s ability to plan ahead. For example, one week’s ride northwest of Hawthorn Village, the king’s chief aide had also purchased several farms and built the same barn-like, clandestine housing structures. Some of Captain Polaris’ warriors were stationed there and had recruited 50 men from that area to form their own small army.
In the event that King Tarlen Kardimont should be discovered living right under Swarenth’s nose, a mere 40 miles north of Dominion Castle, the plan was to fall back to the other farms.
Carplorthian and Captain Polaris had a simple strategy. They protected the young king, amassed arms and waited for Swarenth to reveal a weakness. They were accomplishing the first part, but the last part had not materialized. In fact, Swarenth was growing stronger. However, at least no gargoyles had guessed Tarlen Arandar’s true identity.
That was about to change.
“Arandar, could I have a minute alone with the captain, please?” Carplorthian asked his master. No one called him Tarlen anymore. It wasn’t safe to do so.
“Sure, anyway I should be getting back to help Uncle Janek with that plow he’s making.”
After heading over to the blacksmith shop, the young king said, “Hello, uncle, how are things progressing?”
“Not well, I’m afraid. This is the largest plow I’ve ever made, and it’s awkward to handle.”
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have left you alone if I’d known that.”
The blacksmith marveled at his nephew and thought, I doubt that any other smithy has gotten an apology from a king before. Arandar’s so comfortable with himself, and so secure as a person, that he’s not afraid to be kind and thoughtful. What a king he’ll make someday!
As Tarlen Arandar took hold of the plow, he leaned down close to the blade, which also put him near the fire in the forge. The young king had neglected to trim his beard recently, and it was starting to take the bushy shape Carplorthian liked but that Captain Polaris felt was unnecessary. It was a hot day, and everything was getting dried out and becoming a bit of a tinderbox, including the young king’s beard.
Suddenly, a strong wind whipped through the village causing the fire in the forge to flare up. At first, the flames seemed to engulf Tarlen Arandar’s entire face, and the young king jumped back but not before his eyebrows were singed off. Yet his beard was worse. It was on fire!
Grabbing a towel, Janek covered the young king’s face and quickly smothered the flames. Even so, the blacksmith feared what Tarlen Arandar would look like when the towel was removed, and he was greatly relieved to see there were no serious burns. Most of the young king’s beard was gone, but, other than being red and sore, his face was uninjured.
Once Janek saw his nephew was safe, he began to laugh. The blacksmith didn’t actually think the situation was funny, but it was a way to break the tension. Gingerly, Tarlen Arandar felt his cheeks with both hands and noticed most of his facial hair was gone. However, other than both uncle and nephew getting quite a shock, no harm was done.
That is until five gargoyle warriors rode up to the blacksmith shop and saw what had happened. Four of them laughed at Tarlen Arandar when they saw the charred remains of his beard still smoking. The young man looked up at the gargoyles and laughed along with them. Janek smiled as well. But then the blacksmith looked carefully at the one gargoyle who wasn’t laughing. The hairy ape was in his mid 30s, whereas the others seemed much younger, and he appeared to be in charge.
The older gargoyle took a long, pensive look at the young man and, after nudging his charnuk, came a bit closer. He continued to stare hard at Tarlen Arandar.
What happened next was what Janek had always feared. His worst nightmare was unfolding in front of his eyes, and the blacksmith watched in dismay as recognition dawned on the ape. The gargoyle leader was old enough to know what King Ulray Kardimont had looked like, and it was now obvious to him that they’d stumbled upon Swarenth’s greatest enemy. In front of him stood Ulray’s son, King Tarlen!
The hairy ape didn’t consciously realize it, but even he viewed Tarlen as the true king rather than Swarenth.
The ape reacted quickly and drew his sword. However, wanting the kill to be his own, he didn’t shout his discovery to his subordinates until he was almost upon the young man. “It’s Tarlen! It’s the king!”
For a moment, the other gargoyles just sat there dumbfounded. Tarlen Arandar, on the other hand, remained calm and took hold of a long pole that was holding up the edge of a tarp and yanked it free. To the gargoyles’ surprise, when he pulled the bottom end of the pole out of the dirt, a metal spearhead was attached to it. The young king raised the spear and threw it at the gargoyle leader catching him right in the heart. The dead ape fell from his saddle and dropped into a crumpled heap on the ground.
With calm efficiency, Tarlen Arandar grabbed another pole, yanked the tip out of the ground and threw it. A second gargoyle fell off his charnuk with a spear sticking out of his chest.
The three remaining gargoyles charged at the young king with their swords drawn. Taking one more spear, Tarlen Arandar gripped it tightly at the end with both hands. Then, swinging as hard as he could, he caught the nearest ape across the mouth and knocked him to the ground unconscious. Shocked, surprised and screaming with rage, the last two gargoyles bore down on the young king with savage intensity, yet Tarlen Arandar didn’t show fear. Instead, he moved swiftly, opened a long drawer, pulled out a crossbow and fired. Another hairy ape hit the ground.
The sole remaining gargoyle rode his charnuk up against the young king and slashed at Tarlen Arandar with his sword. Janek, at the top of his lungs, yelled, “For the king!” and threw himself as a human shield between his master and the sword blade. The weapon sank deeply into the blacksmith’s back killing him instantly.
Inside the shoemaker’s shop, Captain Polaris and Carplorthian heard Janek’s cry. The captain was up and out of his shop with a sword in one hand and a spear in the other, yelling an ear-splitting battle cry. He ran to his king.
In the time it had taken Captain Polaris to reach the front door of his shop, Tarlen Arandar had killed the last gargoyle. The young king had gotten hold of a knife and thrown it, catching the ape in his right eye.
Captain Polaris stood in front of King Tarlen and looked for anyone else who might threaten his master. Twenty other human warriors, who had also heard Janek’s cry, quickly surrounded the king. Shortly after that, another ten arrived and fanned out around the village looking for other possible trouble.
There wasn’t any, but the damage was done. Janek was dead, and King Tarlen’s cover was blown.
Captain Polaris was 15 years older than when he’d last engaged in combat but was still formidable and every inch a warrior. All of Tarlen Arandar’s protectors were now in their mid-30s to early 40s but were in fine fighting shape. A bit slower than in the old days perhaps, but no less deadly.
Captain Polaris took command in an instant. The gargoyle that Tarlen had smashed in the face with the shaft of a spear was still alive. He’d been knocked unconscious but was now awake. The hairy ape pretended not to be, but the captain of the king’s personal guard had noticed the ape’s eyes open for a moment. The gargoyle moved his hand ever so slowly towards the sword on the ground next to him. Captain Polaris gave the ape a hard, swift kick and broke its neck.
“Get the gargoyles’ charnuks. I see three, where are the other two?” the captain asked.
Several mounted warriors turned and galloped down the road he
ading toward Dominion Castle but after a half-hour search came up with nothing.
“Those charnuks will eventually be found by gargoyles and will arouse suspicion,” Captain Polaris said. “I want everyone mounted, fully armed and ready to ride within the hour. And I mean everyone!”
Mounted warriors headed off toward their farms to convey the captain’s orders. Others ran to the empty schoolhouse and began hauling weapons out of the secret armory. All of Captain Polaris’ men would carry extra swords and shields with them. Other weapons would be loaded onto horses for the journey to the farms that lay a week northwest of Hawthorn Village. Many of the warriors now praised Carplorthian’s foresight.
An hour later, King Tarlen, Carplorthian, Captain Polaris and over 120 members of the king’s personal guard were ready to head north, reluctantly leaving behind a community they’d been a part of for 15 years.
Villagers had volunteered to bury the dead gargoyles and to continue searching for the two missing charnuks. As it turned out, it didn’t come as a total surprise to the villagers when they were told that King Tarlen had been living amongst them for over a decade. They had always known there was something special about Arandar.
One local man summed it up by saying, “We’re fortunate that we had so few gargoyles stopping by. Otherwise, Tarlen’s identity might have been discovered earlier. He has a royal bearing that’s unmistakable. Many of us suspected that he was King Ulray’s son, but we had the good sense not to ask.”
Another man said, “We’ll sell your farms and send you the money.”
“No, that would be too risky. We won’t be back this way any time soon, and we certainly can’t tell you where we’re going,” Carplorthian said. “Keep the land in trust for the king, farm it and divide the profits amongst yourselves. You might find those large barns to be a bit of a surprise.”
“Oh, you mean the ones you’ve been housing all the warriors in?” another local asked. This man owned one of the larger farms in the area. “Making your barracks look like farm buildings was clever, but we’ve known about them for years.”
“I appreciate your silence and discretion,” Carplorthian
said.
“Well, we didn’t do it for you. We did it for King
Tarlen,” the farmer said.
“I thought the village only suspected Arandar was King Tarlen?”
“Well, you’ve worn that tiger claw around your neck for years. How many tiger claws do you think there are in this area?”
“But I’ve kept it hidden under my shirt.”
“Don’t worry. This small village banded together to protect a boy king. We’ve been with you all along. Do you really think we fell for that story about Arandar being the blacksmith’s nephew? No one else in Janek’s family is as smart as Arandar, I mean King Tarlen. That young man can ride better, run faster, fire a bow more accurately, and has more wisdom than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Carplorthian was shocked that Arandar’s secret identity hadn’t been a secret at all.
“Heck, the very first day you showed up in this village, my wife said to me, ‘That boy’s a Kardimont.’ When I asked her how she knew, she said that Arandar walked just like his father, Ulray.”
“You should have told us that you knew.”
“And then what? Have you run off? We knew that we could keep the boy king safe here, if we were all careful. Anyway, it’s no real surprise that my wife knew who the boy actually was. She’s one heck of a lot smarter than Swarenth. It’s hard to pull anything over on her. Impossible really. And after a while, we just stopped talking about it. We just pretended he was Janek’s nephew and let it at that.”
“You’ll be rewarded for your discretion. Someday we’ll be able to repay you for your kindness.”
The farmer looked highly offended. “No need to reward us. We did our duty and defended the king in our own way.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. I’m not myself right now.”
“We did it for our king!”
“Noble of you, and your king thanks you,” Carplorthian said.
Smiling warmly, King Tarlen took charge of the
situation. He dismounted, walked up to the farmer and hugged him.
“For your loyalty and devotion, I hereby make you a member of my elite personal guard. I also grant this distinction to all the men and women of Hawthorn Village. I’ll return one day, and when I do, we’ll take back Dominion Castle. Be as ready on that day to serve your king as you are now.”
All of the villagers present bowed before their king.
“And where is your wife?” Tarlen asked the farmer.
“Here she comes now.”
The young king walked up to her. “I hear you knew from day one that I was King Tarlen.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I grant you the title of Mother Protector. When I return, I will come to you for advice and counsel.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll do my best to serve you. But it will be years before you come back this way. It would be folly to challenge Swarenth at this point. But I can tell you one thing.”
“What?”
“A young woman will come to you in the future, and she will help you regain your kingdom.”
“How do you know this?”
She lowered her head and was silent.
Her husband spoke up and said, “She sees things. I don’t know how she does it, but what she sees always comes true.”
“Tell me about this young woman.”
“Her name will be White Angel, and she will lead you to victory!”
Chapter 9
Ten miles east of Skybrook Castle. Fifteen years later.
Genevieve rode towards the fortified encampment. The men living there called it a horse ranch, but Genevieve had been raised around warriors and knew a military compound when she saw one.
As she approached, she looked at the “horse trough” which ran along the entire length of the front of the compound. The trough was a rectangle about 200-yards long, 20-feet wide and ten-feet deep. The ranch hands had discovered an underground stream when digging a well and used the water to fill what amounted to a man-made pond.
When Lord Stallington’s daughter had first seen the rectangular pond and learned how deep it was, she had thought, Digging a trench this size must have taken an enormous effort. What is so valuable that men would go through that much trouble to protect it?
The rancher may call it a horse trough, but she called it a moat.
The encampment was in the shape of a square with the moat blocking access from the front. Both sides were guarded by a series of two-story bunkhouses stretching on for the whole 200 yards. There were no windows on the 25-foot high outside walls, which gave the encampment the aura of a fortress. Across the back were stables that were also two stories high, the second floor filled with hay.
However, with a number of horse corrals surrounding the encampment, with the end of one touching the beginning of the next, it would be difficult for an enemy to even reach the outside walls or the moat. These corrals were filled with intelligent, powerful warhorses that were very territorial, and the animals didn’t take kindly to strangers entering their space.
And then, there were the archers who were stationed in blockhouses on the roofs.
On the inside of the compound, in the center of the courtyard, was a tall, wooden tower commanding a clear view of the surrounding area and making it impossible to approach the ranch unseen during the day. At night, sentries were posted in fields beyond the corrals.
Genevieve thought, Whatever they’re protecting, the encampment is built to repel a major assault. But who would even attempt to overrun such fortifications? Lord Ridgewood doesn’t have the courage to take on an outfit like this. Even General Zarkahn fears them. And the rancher gets along so well with father that you’d think he was family. So, whom do they fear?
Her mind tried to reject the conclusion that came to her. But there was no escaping it. The harsh reality forced
itself upon her with brutal clarity.
Swarenth!
Genevieve next asked herself, What do they have that a gargoyle warlord would want so badly?
She regretted having asked herself that question for she didn’t like the answer. There was only one logical reason she could think of for anyone hiding from Swarenth several weeks’ hard ride away from Dominion Castle and then living behind high walls. These men were protecting the true king!
The debate raged inside Genevieve’s mind.
She thought, But all the Kardimonts are dead. I was five-years-old when the whole family was killed.
Yet a little voice in the back of her mind spoke up and said, What about the rumors that have been circulating for years about Tarlen’s having escaped?
But she always believed that such hopes had been born of a people’s desperate desire for a mythical hero who would break the gargoyle warlord’s hold on what was once a proud and noble kingdom.
She refused to accept her own conclusion. But her steel- like, logical mind would not be shut down so easily. She started reviewing the facts.
Genevieve thought, The rancher is said to be 36. Tarlen was six when Dominion Castle was overrun, and that was 30 years ago. So he’s the right age.
The ranch hands appear to be in their late 40s to mid- 50s, which means they’d have been in their late teens to mid-20s when Dominion Castle was captured by Swarenth. Many of the men now have long, white hair flowing down to their shoulders. They ride their horses like proud warriors on a desperate mission. And their level of alertness is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before.
Genevieve thought, That would explain the fanatical devotion these men have to the rancher.
She tried to force the idea out of her mind once more. She thought, It’s just not possible that the rancher is King Tarlen. Is it? They all call him Arandar, but they wouldn’t use his true name, of course.