Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls

by Chris Ward

  ‘Can you tell me what the prophecy means?’ Rema asked in a whisper. I know a little, but not as you do sira.’ Palid puffed eagerly on his pipe for a time.

  ‘I carry it with me at all times,’ he said, ‘for I study it when I can. I have found that after a few ales my mind is more able to roam the deeper parts of my memory in which lie so many other sayings and truths. That is why I come here so often, for it enables me.’ Rema said nothing. ‘I will tell you what you already know for the king will have spoken of this to all the bearers of the medallion. There is one, an archer from the Highlands who is betrothed to the lost one of the line of Hendon. This man has a skill with the bow, which is unsurpassed in all the kingdom. It is he who will decide the final battle, which Lord Petros cannot avoid. Indeed, it would seem that he seeks it. The Wisden have seen that much, but there is another matter on which we cannot agree, for we do not see it.’ He paused, and puffed hard upon his pipe. His eyes were shut as thought he were trying to decide how next to place his words.

  The Wolver was watching, sitting like a statue, eyes narrowed and every sense alert, for there was something about these two, which awoke in him a deep unease. He had long held the old man Palid in contempt. He could not understand why one such as he should be respected, for he did no work, could not fight, and his body was old and repugnant. The newcomer was a mystery, but he had so easily struck up a conversation with the white one that it seemed not a little suspicious.

  ‘There is a mention of the eagle’s eye, and we have searched long and hard throughout all the ancient records and teaching, but can find no mention of this. Lord Petros demands that we discover the answer to this, and his advisor Zelfos will scream at us and threaten, but the Wisden are not afraid of him for we are all old, and death holds no fear. Beware of this man if ever you cross him for I hold that he is not human.’ At that moment Palid suddenly became aware that the Wolver’s eyes were upon them. He shifted uneasily, and drank some ale.

  Rema was enthralled by these few words but he held another question which could not be further restrained. ‘Why does the king not kill this one of the Hendon line, for I hear that she is captured?’ He sat with heart thumping in his chest, for he was unsure of how he might react to any reply.

  ‘He can kill her of course, and has been tempted I am sure, but there is an old and deeper truth created when Revelyn was first born as a kingdom under that name; when the mighty of old such as El-Arathor forged the rules by which the rulers ruled, and others would obey. It was set down that any who would take the life of royal blood, except in battle would be cursed beyond all that the human mind could conjure, and their life would be forfeit within a year. Lord Petros fears this truth, and will not act in murder, until he sees no other option. The royal one is safe for the present, but I cannot see far in this regard.’

  Rema nodded in relief. ‘I thank you for this sira, for it is some comfort.’ Hardly had the words left his mouth than he realised what he had revealed of himself. Desperately he sought some further words which might make a cover for his stupidity. But none came. Palid looked hard at Rema but said nothing further. Instead, he reached deep into his long robes and took out a small parchment which he slid carefully over the bench top to Rema.

  ‘Take it, this prophecy which so interests you, and read it well. Remember this, that with any prophecy there is power in the telling of it, for the more it is spoken, the more it spreads, the more chance that it cannot be thwarted by even the most cunning of the plans of man.’ For an instant, the hands of both men rested on the parchment and for the briefest of moments a silence descended on the tavern and the flames in the giant hearth were stilled, as though time had slipped, and then caught itself once more. People looked quickly round about, shifting nervously, and then resumed their merriment. Rema and Palid both sat for a while contemplating what had just transpired.

  Rema finished his ale and stood to leave. ‘I thank you for your time sira, it has been most interesting.’ He spoke loud enough for others around to hear. It was the parting of two who had met without cause, and enjoyed an unexpected conversation, no more. Palid nodded and resumed the sucking on his pipe. Rema walked slowly back towards the entrance to the tavern. All around were his enemies. Sworn to serve the king, to uphold a kingdom to which he stood as its greatest threat. In truth he could not understand it, but at least he had some deeper knowledge, and the one to whom he had been speaking, this Palid of the Wisden, was one who had not capitulated to the demands of the mad Lord Petros. Perhaps there were others. That he must believe.

  Rema had just left the tavern, and was gathering his cloak around him as walked quickly off into the night, when Palid suddenly realised that the Wolver’s seat was empty. He cursed quietly to himself, and continued muttering, ‘Go safely Rema Bowman, for your life hangs by less than a thread.’ He then realised that if anything should befall the stranger, and the parchment were to be found upon him, he would not see another sunrise. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, and calling for a steward, he ordered four more ales, and settled down to enjoy them as best he could. ‘Ah,’ he whispered, ‘such is the life of the Wisden. We are so little understood.’ He smiled to himself and resumed the happy art of puffing away on his well-worn pipe.

  The Wolver had watched the two with a growing anger. He did not understand exactly why, but he was a creature of highly tuned instinct, one who reacted with death to any who would cross him. The stranger had played a game with him, he was sure of it, just so that he could meet the white skinned one. He had sensed a fear in him when they’d stood by the fire, but he had dismissed it, for most men trembled in the presence of a Wolver. Now however, he realised that he had fallen for some cunning ruse, and was smoldering with unresolved tension. He had lost his brother, the only other creature in all Revelyn who had been important in some way in his short and violent life. His only friend cut down by some stranger, and here was another, playing with him. It would not go unpunished. He had seen the way the two had talked, there was a connection, which seemed to speak of treason, and then a note had passed between them and something strange had happened. Of all in the tavern, he had sensed some powerful force at work, some sorcery that scared him, and now that fear drove him. Deep in his mind, something snapped and he knew what he must do. He had left the tavern unnoticed before the two had said their goodbyes.

  The Wolver walked easily through the darkened streets. He knew them well, all of them, every twist and turn, every alley and hiding place. He would not fail. Indeed, he could not. The fresh night air had quickly cleared his head, and as he walked, he fingered the hilt of his deadly sword in anticipation. There was an evil smile upon his face, and a strange cold light shone in his eyes. I am a Wolver, this is for you my brother. It was a comforting thought. He would kill, and the anger would subside.

  Rema walked carefully, his cloak, seemed somehow longer, fuller, but it kept out the cold and this was welcome. He had a thousand thoughts rushing in his head, and a sense of exhilaration. He’d done it, he’d pulled it off. He’d walked right into the enemy’s lair and escaped with what he wanted. The knowledge. It felt good. He turned down a narrow alley and paused, sensing a chill in the air, but there was no one about. With a quick glance behind, he turned and went on.

  The Wolver waited in the deep shadows, as motionless as a marble column. He had seen the stranger coming, and had guessed which way he would go. If he were wrong, there would be more chances, for he could move faster than his quarry and give not the slightest hint of his presence.

  He was a Wolver.

  But he was right, and the man walked alone towards him. He felt no emotion. He was ready, and death rode upon his blade.

  Rema did not see or sense the deadly danger. He walked steadily on, drew level with the unseen Wolver, and then, when he was but a single pace further on, the Wolver moved like lightening from the shadows. His mighty sword glinted momentarily in the starlight as it swept up and around and down. The mighty blow caught Rema at the
base of his neck with a force that could decapitate an ox. In a flash of incandescent light, which lit the alley brighter than the noonday sun, two things happened.

  The Wolver’s sword shattered into a thousand pieces, and a strange destruction swathed in bluish crackling light, swept up the creatures arm, and tore it from his body; in an instant, the limb was consumed to ash. The Wolver had the briefest of moments, in which, horror-struck, it understood that death’s dark embrace stood waiting, and then it fell unconscious to the ground, whilst from the wound the gushing blood made a dark river in the cobblestones.

  In the same instant, Rema felt a blinding pain and was thrown forward with such a force, that he too almost lost consciousness, and his neck felt suddenly weak and broken. A blinding headache such as he had never experienced, engulfed him. He immediately thought a roof tile must have slipped off and fallen on him from a height. He did not see the Wolver until he finally staggered to his feet and realised that he had been attacked. Through the agony of his damaged neck and the throbbing of his head, he recognised his attacker from the tavern, and fearfully turned and ran as best he could through the streets towards the only safe house he knew in all Ramos. As he ran, he knew that there were other Wolvers and he was powerless against them. Each shadow, each darkened doorway held a lethal danger. He arrived below the high-set window exhausted and in no fit state for anything, much less a tricky climb. He found he could not lift his arms above his chest, for if he did his vision blurred and he almost fainted. He rested for a span, but it did not improve. He could not climb at all. Rema knew that he could not get to safety through the window. He slumped down upon the hard ground and drew his cloak around him. As he did, he heard a faint call from above.

  ‘Rema is that you? Can you hear me?’ Serenna called gently from the window. She must have been waiting for him, watching even at that late hour. Rema’s spirits lifted.

  ‘Yes, it is me, but I cannot climb. I am injured.’ He spoke as loudly as he dared. There was silence for a time, but as he watched, a shadow dropped from the window as easily as an Orax on a sheer mountainside. Despite his pain, Rema smiled.

  ‘Rema what has happened, are you alright?’ Serenna was beside him.

  ‘I was attacked, there is much to tell, but I cannot stay here.’ Rema spoke in a whisper. ‘I am not bleeding but my neck is damaged.’ Serenna was quiet for a time, considering the best move.

  ‘Can you get to the front door?’

  ‘Yes, that much I can do,’ Rema replied.

  ‘Good, I will meet you there,’ and Serenna disappeared like a spider up the wall and the shutter was closed soon after. Rema stood groggily and walked slowly around the alleyways until he arrived on the main street, and waited by the heavy oak door, at the front of his cousin’s house. It opened silently, and a hand reached out and pulled him in. Rema felt a surge of relief when the door was closed and bolted.

  ‘Follow me quietly.’ In a moment he was ushered into Serenna’s bed chamber and another door was bolted shut. He sat on a stool breathing hard and exhausted. Serenna was fully dressed and looked ready to travel. He went to speak but his cousin took charge.

  ‘We will talk of tonight later. For now I need to know what damage has been done.’ Rema went to massage his neck but found his hand would not rise even that high.

  ‘My neck…’ he began, but his words were cut off immediately.

  ‘Not damage to you, Rema. I meant what danger to us now, that is the pressing matter, for I can see that you will not pass out and die on me this instant.’ She did not speak harshly but her face was worried and Rema knew immediately that her reasoning was true. ‘Give me the Guild-medallion and I will replace it whilst my husband sleeps, for if that is discovered missing. It will not be long before we are discovered.’

  Rema hardly heard her words for when his hand went to the medallion, it was not there. He went so pale that Serenna gasped.

  ‘You do have it Rema?’ They looked at each other in a growing horror.

  ‘It was around my neck. I was attacked by a Wolver, his blade must have cut it away.’ Rema spoke in a bare whisper. ‘Right now it must be lying beside his body in an alleyway a league from here.’

  ‘You killed another Wolver?’ Serenna was incredulous. ‘What with, for you carried no weapon tonight?’ For the first time Rema realised what was being said.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.’ Rema shook his head and winced.

  ‘Without the medallion we are lost. I did not expect that we would have so little time.’ Serenna spoke to herself as she paced the room quietly. Rema could do little but let her take charge, for his head still throbbed and the pain in his neck had not dulled. Suddenly she spoke, and the look on her face reminded Rema of times long before when they had shared danger without fear in the Mighty Mountains.

  ‘Stay here and do not make a sound.’ Then she was gone, locking the door behind her. Rema sat and waited, for that was all he could do. The house was silent as a tomb. After a time in which he was able to gather his thoughts a little, he realised that it was Mentor’s cloak which had saved him. There was a power in it, which defied belief, and yet which gave him a protection unheard of in all Revelyn. He remembered putting the medallion on over the cloak so the purple ribbon which held it around his neck would have taken the full force of the Wolver’s blade. Even with the cloak’s protection, Rema knew that the Wolver had given him a mighty blow. Thank you Mentor he thought. I hope one day I will see you again so I may thank you face to face. He shut his eyes and let the pain in his body engulf him.

  Quite some time later the lock clicked softly, and the door opened. Serenna entered, secured the door, and with a finger to her mouth indicated that Rema should remain silent. She went behind a screen and picked up a leather a bag which must have been packed earlier in the evening as part of some plan. She placed it by the door in readiness. Rema was bemused by her actions. Suddenly she blew out all but one candle, throwing the room into deep shadow, and then went and stood by the door, and waited. Shortly after the lock made a barely audible click, and the handle turned ever so slightly. The door began to open very slowly. Rema immediately made to go and assist his cousin, but she indicated with a shake of her head that he was to remain where he was. In a flash Serenna reached into the dark crack which the opening door had created. She grabbed something and pulled it into the room. In a trice, she had a leather thong around the throat of the intruder, and was at his back, pulling it tightly across his windpipe. The man she had bested tried desperately to ease the pressure on his throat, but Serenna raised her leg and kneed him hard in the left kidney. He fell with the woman on him. He grunted hoarsely, and flailed around, trying to get his fingers under the thong; but failed. Serenna drew down with all her might upon the cord. Rema watched in helpless fascination as the man who bore an ugly scar upon his cheek began to pass out. His eyes commenced to flutter, and then suddenly, he went limp and lay unconscious. Serenna stood above him breathing hard, before bending once more and securing his hands behind him with the leather thong. She felt in his tunic and brought out a key.

  ‘All along I knew you had a key to my chambers Ethor, you pathetic thieving creature.’ She went to a chest, and returned with another cord and long piece of cloth. With these, she gagged the man and tied his feet together, looping the cord around a leg of her heavy timber bedstead.

  ‘Get up.’ Rema suddenly realised that she was speaking to him. ‘I do not know if he saw you; he probably did. I should finish him off for he is an evil creature, but I cannot yet bring myself to do such a thing to one defeated. A slight shudder rippled through her body. ‘Perhaps before we are all done, I will learn this art.’ She indicated that Rema should stand by the door, and then spoke a little more clearly, as though she wanted to be heard.

  ‘We will travel north. I have two horses waiting. I have friends at Sheldon who will give us shelter for a time. We must leave at once.’ And with that, she picked up the bag, and they left in silen
ce, locking the door behind them.

  In the street Rema was surprised to see two black steeds ready saddled, and waiting, held by a man and a woman wearing hooded cloaks. Serenna spoke quickly, and her directions and sense of purpose impressed Rema greatly. His cousin showed no fear, and clearly, she had a plan. Rema felt his spirits lift further, for this was how he remembered her from their youth.

  ‘Ride hard now my friends, let the streets resound with your flight. Do not worry about being seen. Leave the city by the Royal Gate. If you ride hard, you will get there before the guards close it, for it is yet a span before midnight. Ride as I have told you, north towards Sheldon. Leave the horses when you arrive, and disappear, for your lives will be forfeit if you are captured.’ She paused before adding in a gently voice, ‘I thank you both.’

  Without a word, the two caped riders mounted as one, in an easy manner borne of much practice, and with a dig of their heels, they were off, the horse’s hooves echoing loudly from the stonewalls as they passed. In a moment, they were lost to view.

  Serenna turned to Rema, who stood in pain and surprise at what had so quickly taken place.

  ‘And now we flee.’ She spoke grimly, but there was a smile on her lips as she reached into the shadows and picked up a small bundle which she handed to the damaged man. He recognised his bow and quiver, and little else.