“Yes?” Maclamar prodded after a long pause.
“I’ve met some interesting people in the last while, Mac,” Travis continued. “I met these little people ...”
“The Mikraino,” Maclamar interjected.
“Yes, I guess you know that, too. Well, one of them told me that a person doesn’t really carry the box. The box just sort of does its own thing. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
“But?”
“I just have this feeling that it’ll come back to me. The Mikraino told me I’d know what to do.”
“Let me guess, you want to go to Liam Foster.”
Travis nodded.
“So to get the box back, we have to go to Sarhani?”
Travis nodded.
XXXVII
There is such a thing as the heart of a king, but I believe one who possesses such a heart may, by necessity, be precluded from knowing it.
– Tomes of Æhlman
“I’m sorry to have doubted you,” Filos called to Richard Ban’hoen. “And I must say, it’s been some time since I’ve travelled in such style. I had almost forgotten what it’s like.”
Filos leaned back in the elegant couch, which was almost big enough for him to lie at full stretch.
“I’m happy it pleases you,” Richard called back from his perch on top of the carriage. “We procured this carriage from the Nevulians a few months ago.”
Liam stood behind Richard and called to him through the open hatch. “Should we be looking for new transportation?”
“I don’t think so,” answered Richard. “This is likely the fastest wagon in Jeandania, and the horses are the best in the kingdom. This is our quickest option. They’ll be able to overtake us if they send riders ahead, but only if they are quick enough to realise what’s happened.”
“And you don’t believe they’ll be quick?” Liam asked.
“I don’t think anyone will know it is missing for a while. I still have some friends on the palace grounds. They sometimes make your sign.”
“My sign?” asked Liam.
Richard put his fingers in the air in the same way his brother had done before the gallows. He did so with an air of resignation.
“Of course,” replied Liam. It was a very strange thing to him. He had no recollection of making the fabled sign of the resistance at the fountain in Endrin, but he understood the importance of it now. It was a sign of allegiance to him. He felt almost comforted to sense that Richard’s allegiance was clearly more towards his brother than it was towards him. Richard’s doubt in Liam was no different than the doubt Liam had in himself. It was a confusing time, but Liam understood the duty the fates had bestowed. Richard’s twin had died for him, as had others in the crowd who helped him escape after the trial, and he knew he had a responsibility to all of them.
He felt it should be different, that he should be proud to have the faith of these people. He felt he ought to feel some ambition, and to have some kind of plan. Many years ago, when he was young, hungry and righteous in his path, he would have been ready for the challenge. Now, there was none of this, but there was something.
“So we must suffer in these accommodations for the rest of the trip?” asked Filos, wiggling the hairy toes on his bare feet, and snuggling into the pillow under his head.
It was enough to bring a smile to Liam’s face. He sat back in his own comfortable seat, and put his feet up on the ottoman. “The King does know how to travel.”
Liam recognised this was a time of leisure between times of stress, and he could feel his soldierly instincts working. This was a valuable time to reflect and boost confidence. A little boosting and encouragement could go a long way to reinvigorate soldiers before the next battle. Now, his soldiers were an odd assortment of small and large, male and female. Had it been a dozen hardened warriors, he would know better what to do. As it was, he had to adapt.
“Lyra, I’ve been meaning to ask. You really had me frightened back there at Filos’s place. I had my foot stuck in the attic for all to see. I was expecting one of those men to lop it off at any moment. How did you do that?”
Lyra sighed, and then smiled, tucking in to her own soft cushions as she answered. “I’m not sure. It’s a trick taught to me by the Sisterhood. I was never very good at it, actually,” she laughed shyly. “It has something to do with manipulating their vision. I don’t know. I just try to follow the exercises.”
“It wasn’t a manipulation,” Rhemus stated.
“It was more like a reflection,” Kaila added.
“Yes,” Rhemus agreed. “It was. How did you do this, Lyra?”
“A reflection?” Lyra asked. “Yes, that’s what they taught us in class. It was the theory behind the method, but the method was all I really understood. I’m not the most gifted of the sisters in that regard. I am an artist, you see, a swain.”
“How can you do something that you don’t understand?” Kaila blurted. It was a tiny little outburst, barely even rude, but Liam understood its meaning immediately. Kaila was jealous.
Rhemus seemed to communicate something to Kaila, and then said to Lyra, “It was an amazing thing you did, Lyra. It seems to me this could be a useful tool in the battle ahead. Can you teach us how to do it?”
Lyra answered carefully, “Of course I can try. Perhaps Kaila can help me to understand the theory a little better. We must all work together if we are to have a chance against the King’s armies.”
Liam said nothing. He did not wish to spoil the camaraderie that was awkwardly coming together. But he had to shut his eyes, and shut out the relentless barrage of revelation in his friends’ conversations – the armies of the King would be coming after them. Of course they would, he thought, but he was just beginning to accept the logical conclusion to the course of events. They were headed to the ruins of Sarhani to fight the armies of the King.
“May the fates be with us, my friends,” he said.
~Æ~
Argus had gathered quite a bit of experience as the apprentice of a doctor hundreds of years ago, and now was likely the best-qualified physician in the kingdom. He studied medicine because he knew it to be a useful skill, and because his father had forced him into it. Of course, his father never really forced anyone into anything, but he had a wily method of taking away all other options, until the one he presented seemed the only choice. His father would laugh, now, he thought, because this was precisely the situation in which he found himself. The last thing he wanted to do was tend to this hideous pet the King kept as a servant, but all other options seemed unavailable to him. While Gastious slept, he administered medicines and monitored his health. When he was awake, Argus left his two assistants to deal with his mad ravings. Gastious’s hatred of Argus, and of all Walvaai, had risen to new extremes. Twice he had tried to kill Argus. The first time he accredited the attempt to madness, but the second seemed more serious.
He was constantly accusing Argus of trying to poison him, a thought that Argus had certainly entertained, but Argus was falling out of favour with the King, and knew that saving this monster was his best hope of regaining the King’s trust. He also knew that Gastious was essential to the upcoming battle. Only he could lead the Bok.
The King walked into Gastious’s chambers as Argus ran a wet cloth over Gastious’s neck.
“How is our patient today, Argus?” the King inquired.
“He’s recovering at an impressive rate. Of course, I have never seen anyone survive the pits, so there’s no precedence from which to judge, but each day he grows more coherent, and the swelling decreases.”
Arconus turned up his nose. “He is still a right mess,” he said, referring to swelling, which distorted Gastious’s already grotesque features, and bloated his body in random places. “But he looks much better than he did two days ago.”
Argus took Gastious’s good arm in his hand and again applied the wet cloth.
“Why do you coat the arms like that?” asked Arconus.
“The blood
vessels are closer to the surface on the forearms. Here, you can see the veins, each of which branches into smaller and smaller blood vessels until they are too small for the eye to see.” Argus turned Gastious’s arm over to show the King. “The stomach will not tolerate certain medicines, so they cannot be administered orally. In the cloth is a very potent medicine which seeps through the skin. Very little will make the journey all the way into the bloodstream, but some will, and it will then be pumped through the entire body. The skin also gives the medicine a slow release into the body. Some takes longer to reach the blood, effectively treating him over a slower, more gradual period. Yesterday his arm was too swollen even to see the veins. He’s making good progress.”
“How long before he is back in service?”
Argus shook his head. “It’s difficult to say. Perhaps a few more days.”
“Can you wake him?”
“Yes, of course, Your Highness,” Argus answered, and he reached for a vial of blue liquid. He was about to administer it into Gastious’s mouth then, thinking better of it, reached for a rose-coloured vial as well. Arconus watched the process quizzically.
“The blue will rouse him, the rose will keep him from trying to kill me,” he explained. “I hope,” he added as he administered both mixtures at once.
A moment later Gastious started coughing, then moaning. Argus took a few steps back from the table.
“Where is the warlock?” he muttered.
“Argus is here, Gastious. He is working hard to save your life,” answered Arconus.
“He is trying to poison me,” spat Gastious.
“Nonsense,” the King protested. “I would never let that happen. I need to apprise you of recent events.”
Gastious moaned again, then stirred. Argus took another step back. The rose medicine should have prevented him from much movement. Apparently Argus had not given him enough.
Gastious sat up on the edge of the bed, and tried his best to look dignified for his King, but his face was crooked with swelling, and his usual drooling habit had become a spitting habit, as rivulets of saliva flowed freely from the unswollen half of his mouth.
Arconus showed no distaste. “Ah, it is good to see you up, my old friend,” he said.
“Yes, Your Highness, I should be ready to serve you very soon. I am sorry to have left your service. It was the warlock in the pits. One like Argus,” Gastious glared at his physician.
“I told you Gastious, Argus has been working to save you. He is our ally, and we need him now more than ever.”
“What has happened, Your Highness?”
“Foster has escaped the city,” answered the King.
“Have Argus’s little men not been able to stop them?” Gastious asked, with clear contempt.
“They have failed,” Argus answered simply. “There are others who veil their location.”
“Has Foster escaped because of their failure, or by your design, warlock?”
“Enough, Gastious. Enough. I have meditated on this for some time. I believe we must turn this to our advantage.”
“How so, Your Highness?” asked Gastious.
“You are certain that Foster is on his way to Sarhani?” the King asked Argus.
“Yes, I’m sure. Others are on their way to join him.”
“How do they know where to go?”
“I fear the Æhlman witches are surreptitiously spreading the word,” answered Argus.
“Can we stop him?” Gastious asked.
“We no longer wish to stop him, Gastious,” said the King.
“You see! You let this warlock influence you, Majesty,” Gastious blurted with a finger pointing again at Argus. He was met with a hard slap across his swollen face.
“You dare to suggest I could be manipulated?” Arconus bellowed.
Gastious cowered and raised his hand in defence.
Argus had never seen Gastious act like this. He pleaded meekly, “I apologise, Your Highness. Forgive me, please. I’m not myself.”
Arconus took Gastious’s arm, and gently pulled it down.
“I know, Gastious. I know. There is no one in the world whose loyalty I treasure more. You are the King’s Prime,” Arconus reassured him. “Have faith in me. We underestimated our opponent, Liam Foster, but we still have the advantage.”
“Yes, Your Highness, of course,” Gastious answered tentatively. “How do you suggest we proceed?”
Arconus crossed his arms behind his back and paced lightly back and forth in front of Gastious’s bed, creating a regal boundary between his two most trusted aides. “Foster’s escape from the gallows is a very serious liability. Had we captured him and killed him, we would have made him a martyr. We never would have been able to dissuade his followers. One can deal with dissidents, one cannot deal with fanatics.”
“Mmm. I believe you are correct, sire,” Argus pondered aloud. “We have obviously failed in preventing this man from becoming a viable threat. We must accept this defeat. The obvious course is to continue to pursue him. He has now become more than a traitor. He is an enemy. This man now has a following.”
Gastious snapped, “And how does this become an advantage to us, warlock?”
Argus paused intentionally, provoking him. He’d had enough of trying to save this beast only to be insulted by him. “Liam Foster has become a symbol for the people,” he finally answered. “He’s one of them. If he leads an army he becomes more than them.”
Gastious’s breathing grew louder and wetter. “So we wish to make him a great general now?” he challenged.
“The greater the better,” Arconus said simply. “Our army and our resources are vastly superior to anything Foster could raise. Even if we were to find him, and to kill him now, the people would not stand for the affront we would make to the fates after the incident at the gallows. It’d be very difficult to maintain their support.”
“The King is very astute,” Argus observed, “and has studied much of the history of Jeandania. There have been many instances similar to this. One can fight men, but not ideas, and certainly not myths. To assassinate Foster now would be to grant him mythic proportions, and cast the King into a role from which he could never extricate himself; the man who defied the fates to kill Liam Foster. There would be more and more uprisings in Foster’s name. Even if we put them all down, we would be spending of our time fighting them, rather than dealing with matters of rule.”
Gastious spoke as he thought, “So we make a stand now, against Foster’s army. We let him be the aggressor. We put down the Foster rebellion. To kill Foster in a dark alley would be treacherous, but to kill him on the battlefield would be noble. When the people see their hero crushed like this, they’ll understand the futility of waging war against King Arconus. If Foster cannot defeat the King, who can? It will solidify our power, not weaken it. If we’re convincing enough in our victory, no one will dare rise against us again.”
Argus was both impressed and annoyed at how quickly Gastious had grasped the strategy.
“It is time to start painting the picture,” Arconus ordered. “We must assume Foster has escaped the capital, and we must tell all of Jeandania about the army he is raising.”
“This could be dangerous. What if more go to him?” Gastious protested.
Argus answered, “I don’t believe that will be the case. Dantun tells me most of the people are still frightened and confused.”
Arconus added, “Foster will get his army. The young and bold will go to him with their romantic notions of rebellion, and they will be crushed. Their loved ones will mourn their foolish hearts, and I will be free of these distractions.”
“I must consult my scrolls, Your Highness,” said Argus, “but I feel we may be able to add a bit more mystique to our victory.”
“How so?” asked the King.
“In front of the ruins is a huge arena. It was built as a special battlefield where armies could fight with honour, rather than lay siege on communities where innocents were raped and kille
d.”
Arconus nodded. “You must tell me more about this arena, Argus. It could be a further opportunity. Possibly it could even allay certain misgivings about my methods of rule thus far.”
“Don’t take this too far,” said Gastious, his strength waning. “We’ve underestimated Foster too many times. We must fight to win.”
Arconus stepped up to Gastious with his arm raised. Gastious instinctively raised his own to block another strike. Arconus stepped around it and put his hand on Gastious’s shoulder.
“I always play to win, Gastious. That is why I am King, and you are the King’s Prime.”
~Æ~
Darryck followed General Riley along the winding path. They had discussed their options over and over, from every conceivable angle, with every possible outcome they could anticipate. The plan they finally agreed upon was the most difficult, and the least certain. They would go to the capital. They would camp outside the city gates at a place known to Riley, and they would tap their sources for intelligence. They would head into the very mouth of the beast that hunted them.
With about two days left of their journey to Kraal, they spotted smoke from a camp-fire off to the East.
“Over there,” Darryck pointed.
“Yes, I see it,” answered Riley.
“Should we send a scout?”
“I think so. Any bit of information may be helpful. Choose one of your men, and I’ll send one of mine. It should only be an hour or so each way. This is as good a place as any to make camp.”
Darryck made a few hand signals. His men broke into action setting up camp, and Bryntal came to his side. Riley called one of his men to him, and the two scouts were on their way.
~Æ~
“May we provide a guiding hand of wisdom.”
“This is a crisis.”
“It’s no such thing.”
“The King is perceived as weak.”
“The King is weak.”
“Please, let’s get back on course,” interrupted the Chairman. “The King still has control of his army. He has the people of Jeandania under his sway, and he has allies to call upon if necessary. Liam Foster has again escaped Arconus’s grasp. His following grows, but it’s still insignificant against the resources of the King.”
With Footfalls of Shadow Page 35