The Captive

by Paul Lauritsen

  “You nearly missed it,” Oreius observed gruffly. “Being a king is hard work, I hear?”

  Cevet shook his head in amazement. “I’ll never understand how he does that.”

  “Who?” Relam asked, “Me?”

  “Oreius,” Cevet clarified. “Although, you managing the duties of a king is pretty impressive as well. But Oreius hasn’t even seen you yet, and he knows exactly who you are, where you’re standing and how long you’ve been there.”

  “For starters, I listen instead of marveling at the skills of my companions,” Oreius grunted. “It’s amazing how little people listen, when there are so many sounds in the world. Each is distinct in its own way, and gives a clue as to what caused it. That’s the real key, listening and understanding. You can hear a noise, but unless you interpret it correctly the mere fact you heard it is rather useless.”

  “Or didn’t hear it,” Relam said ruefully, remembering a few long and particularly embarrassing sessions of Oreius’ awareness drills.

  “Or didn’t hear it,” Oreius agreed.

  The three fell silent, eyes fixed on the west. The sun slipped over the horizon, and the light gradually began to fade until twilight had stolen over the entire city. Relam let out a contented sigh, Oreius’ garden putting him at peace as it always did. Finally, the old man stood and began moving back towards the house.

  “If we have business to discuss, might as well do it inside,” he observed. “Too many ears out here, and sound carries near water.”

  Relam and Cevet followed quietly, moving around the fountain to the back door. Oreius let them in and they all moved together to the sitting room at the front of the house. There, they sank into comfortable armchairs around the empty fireplace.

  “So,” Relam said, eager to start things off. “The regent article is prepared to be presented to the Assembly. Clemon really outdid himself.”

  “As usual,” Cevet interrupted, grinning.

  “And with any luck it should be passed within the month,” Relam finished, rolling his eyes.

  “Oh,” Cevet said, wincing, “That’s not good.”

  “Yeah,” Relam agreed, “It’s too long to wait. The article will be introduced on the first day of the next week. Our next meeting with the other lordlings – regents – is the day after. I’m planning to instruct you all to just go ahead and start performing your duties as outlined in Clemon’s document.”

  “I guess that means we’ll have to read it at some point,” Cevet muttered.

  “I’ll have copies made for each of you,” Relam promised. “Don’t worry, it’s only thirty something pages.”

  “Only?” Cevet asked, his voice rising in horror.

  “Just read it,” Relam muttered. “I don’t expect you to be able to quote it or anything.”

  “This,” Oreius said drily, “Is why I never got involved in the business of running the kingdom or serving as an advisor. Entirely too much paperwork.”

  “Thanks,” Relam said, shooting the sword master a dark look. “Anyway, Cevet, you had an update for me?”

  “Yes,” the lordling replied immediately, growing serious. “Relam, I’ve uncovered something I didn’t anticipate. I was able to get a hold of some of my father’s communications with D’Arnlo – ”

  “Legally?” Relam interrupted.

  “My father hid them in his study,” Cevet explained. “Technically they’re his, so I guess they’re mine now. Does an inheritance usually include things like incriminating evidence?”

  “Maybe?” Relam said. “How should I know? The only thing I’ve ever inherited is the crown.”

  “I never inherited an estate or anything either,” Oreius said, shrugging. “All I ever got was my father’s sword.”

  “Is that the one you still use?” Relam asked curiously.

  Oreius snorted. “Gods above, no. That sorry blade was as dull and unbalanced a lump of iron as you could find. The sword I use to fight is far superior. My father’s is locked away in a safe place, so I have it to remember him by.”

  “Anyway,” Cevet said briskly, “I was digging through my father’s old papers, and I found some references to an outlaw group operating in the Midwood.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Relam observed.

  “Yes,” Cevet agreed. “But here’s the new information: apparently my father and D’Arnlo were bankrolling them.”

  Relam sat back in his chair, momentarily stunned. As he turned this news over, several pieces of the puzzle he hadn’t been able to solve clicked into place. “That explains the cash they had on hand,” he realized. “Remember, Oreius? We found mounds of coins and treasure in their command tent.”

  “It’s not the sort of thing I’ll soon forget,” Oreius said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You say your father was bankrolling them, Cevet? Did you find out why?”

  “To make the king look weak,” the lordling replied grimly. “The idea was to perpetuate lawlessness in key regions so Relam’s father would appear to have lost control of matters. It might have forced him to cede the throne the old-fashioned way, as opposed to needing to wipe out the royal line.”

  “Plots within plots,” Relam muttered shaking his head. “Was this their backup plan, then?”

  “No, just another part of the grander scheme I think,” Cevet said. “An equally desirable alternative. My father’s notes mentioned efforts in other regions needed to be escalated, but apparently they weren’t his responsibility to manage.”

  “D’Arnlo, then?” Relam asked.

  “No,” Cevet said quietly, shaking his head. “Relam, I haven’t found any names yet, but it appears that some other high-ranking nobles and maybe a number of military officers were involved.”

  “And, therefore, are still on the loose,” Relam guessed. “Since we haven’t managed to round up very many at all.”

  “In all likelihood, yes,” Cevet agreed. “So, the question is, who are they, and what are they planning now?”

  Oreius frowned. “You said they were funding other outlaws as well? In other regions?”

  “Yes,” Cevet said.

  “Then I would start there,” the sword master replied. “Have the regents be on the lookout for organized crime in the territories they are responsible for. Or any disasters or high-profile accidents that could be the result of sabotage. If you capture people involved in such activities, you may be able to trace them back to some of the nobility.”

  “It’s a start,” Relam muttered, “But it will take time.” Suddenly, a thought occurred to him and he burst out laughing.

  “What?” Cevet asked, looking at the king as though he had lost his mind. “What’s so amusing, Relam?”

  “The money,” Relam managed, still chuckling, “All the gold your father and D’Arnlo sent to the bandits. It’s being used to rebuild the western half of Etares now. Cevet, your father accidentally became one of the greatest philanthropists in the kingdom’s history!”

  Oreius started laughing as well, and then Cevet as the irony of the situation dawned on them. Eventually, Relam wiped tears from his eyes and suppressed his mirth, leaning forward in his chair and lowering his voice again.

  “So, outlaws,” he said. “Anything else, Cevet?”

  “Not really,” the lordling replied. “It sounds like they also passed sensitive information to these groups as well, but I haven’t found any hard evidence of that. Nor have I found how the lords involved are discreetly making contact with lowlifes. My eyes and ears haven’t noticed any of our suspects doing anything suspicious.”

  Relam frowned. “Now how could that be . . . unless they aren’t involved directly!”

  “What?” Oreius asked, not following.

  “Listen,” Relam said eagerly, remembering, “My mother mentioned something once, a while back now. She’d been visiting other ladies of the court, and I asked her if she ever got the feeling that other nobles hated our family. She told me not to worry about the lords, that they wouldn’t do anything drastic. And then sh
e started to say something about their ladies being perhaps even more dangerous.”

  “You’re saying I need to keep closer watch on their families,” Cevet said, understanding. “And maybe their servants as well. A lady could easily pass information to servants throughout the day and have them go out into the city and make contact with lowlifes and such.”

  “And it would look far less suspicious,” Relam agreed. “It’s an angle worth pursuing.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Unfortunately, there is precedent for something like this,” he added delicately, glancing at Cevet.

  The Thius heir scowled. “I know,” he said angrily. “I’ll never forgive my father for that moment of brilliance. But that brings up another good point – even if we catch the ladies of certain nobles doing something, they may just be pawns. Like my mother was.”

  “Yes,” Relam agreed. “How is she doing, by the way?”

  “Well enough,” Cevet said uncertainly. “She’s taken over managing our house now that my father’s gone, helps free me up to take care of the rest of this mess.”

  Relam nodded gravely. “I hope she’s alright. Tell her I asked after her, will you?”

  “Sure,” Cevet agreed, rising. “Is that everything for tonight, Relam? I’ve got another meeting I need to get to.”

  “This late at night?” the young king asked, surprised.

  “Of course,” Cevet said, unperturbed. “My evening is just getting started. This is the time of the shadows, Relam. It’s a time to learn things, track people, and discover clues that might unravel everything my father and D’Arnlo built.”

  “Be careful,” Oreius said quietly. “This is not a game, Cevet.”

  “Oh, I know it’s not a game,” Cevet said, stopping by the front door and swinging his cloak around his shoulders. “It’s far more than that. It’s my mission.”

  The lordling let himself out, pulling the door shut behind him. Oreius sighed and got up, locking the door.

  “I worry about that boy,” the old warrior murmured. “He’s changed since his father’s betrayal.”

  “Can you blame him?” Relam asked.

  “Not really. But he’s become reckless, and unstable. Dangerous, maybe.”

  “We’re all dangerous in our own way,” Relam replied quietly. “We’re not just boys anymore, Oreius.”

  The old warrior nodded. “I know.” He led Relam to the back door, where Eric and Johann were waiting quietly. “Just remember, none of you are immortal. And there are forces in this world more dangerous than you can imagine.”

  “Worse than D’Arnlo?” the young king asked, opening the door and preparing to leave.

  Oreius nodded gravely. “There’s always something else. When you’re the king, you’re a target. And there is always another enemy ready to take aim.”

  Chapter 13:

  Setting Sail

  Kanin circled lazily over the Sthan coastline, giving Khollo an excellent view of Narne’s crowded harbor. Huge seafaring vessels dominated the eastern end of the harbor, moored alongside wide jetties large enough for carts to be wheeled along. Further to the west, close by the mouth of the Ranil River, smaller vessels were moored to narrower piers. Among them were traders, fishermen, even a few boats designed for little more than a pleasant day on the water. There was no rhyme or reason to how these smaller vessels were ordered, with fishermen pulled up right alongside some of the fancier vessels. All in all, it was a chaotic and colorful scene, teeming with activity.

  The Keepers swung low over the harbor, swooping over the high curtain wall separating the harbor from the inner city. Towers anchored the southern wall to the east and west. The east and west walls sprouted from the northern sides of those towers, angling towards each other slightly until they ran into the massive keep at the north end of the inner city. The keep was a stout and impressive collection of towers surrounding a large hall with a peaked ceiling. It was not as large or majestic as the Citadel in Etares, but it put the keep at Ishkabur to shame with its size and height.

  Another wondrous place I’d only heard of before, Khollo mused. And now, we travel the length and breadth of the world as we please.

  Maybe as you please, Kanin grumbled. I still have to do the flying.

  Khollo laughed and patted the dragon’s scaly neck sympathetically. The emerald beast had been out of sorts since they had decided Khollo would sail with the recruits while Kanin flew ahead to Ethgalin alone. This was because even the largest vessels in Narne’s diverse harbor were not strong enough to carry a dragon. And even if there had been one, it would be far too expensive to charter such a vessel for five human passengers and one dragon. So the Keepers would be splitting up, an arrangement neither was looking forward to but both realized was necessary.

  It won’t be too long, Khollo promised Kanin quietly, scanning the city from the sky.

  Your kind move slow enough on land, Kanin grumbled. You will move even slower on the water, where you are not made to be.

  Boats are faster than walking.

  Maybe. But you could run into one of those southern storms. Or you could be eaten by a giant fish.

  That won’t happen, Kanin, Khollo said, rolling his eyes. Don’t worry about us. Just get to Ethgalin safely and enjoy yourself for a few days. You can come and fetch me when we’re four days out or so.

  I would enjoy the island better if you were coming along directly as well, Kanin persisted.

  Khollo sighed. You and I both know it would be better for me to stay behind and start teaching the others about what being a Keeper really means. That way, when we reach the island, they will be better prepared for what lies ahead.

  Are you prepared? Kanin interjected.

  Khollo looked away to the horizon, the joy of the flight suddenly stolen away as a weight of worry settled on him. I hope so, he thought quietly.

  Kanin did not pursue the matter, instead gliding down to the courtyard in front of Narne’s keep. A small group of tiny, dark figures was waiting there.

  They are eager to be off, Kanin announced. Scared, but excited too. They will do well.

  Khollo brightened, looking over the four candidates, who were rapidly growing closer as Kanin dove. They were an odd group to be sure, and he didn’t know how all of this would work out. But he felt confident he and Kanin had done well on the search. Now it was time for the next phase, to see if these four young people could truly be forged into Keepers.

  Kanin landed and Khollo slid down from his back, striding forward eagerly. “All set then?” he asked, glancing around at the others.

  Sven shouldered a bulging pack and nodded grimly. “Lead on, Keeper.”

  Khollo grinned at him. “Everyone else good to go?” he asked, just to be sure.

  “We’ve been ready for hours,” Aralye replied, tilting her head back and staring him down. “All we’re waiting on is you.”

  Khollo flushed. “I, ah, had a few last minute things to take care of,” he finally muttered lamely. He quickly turned his attention to Parilt, Lord of Narne, who was standing a little apart from the others.

  “Thank you, Lord Parilt, for your kind assistance,” he said formally, bowing slightly.

  “No trouble at all,” the lord replied. “Anything to keep this kingdom safe. And since the king is paying for it all, I really can’t complain!” Parilt laughed heartily, clapping Khollo on the shoulder. “Good luck to you, Keepers. Fair winds and calm seas be yours.”

  Khollo and the others murmured polite farewells, then slowly set off through the streets of Narne. Kanin took flight and followed them from the sky.

  “So, where are we going?” Sven asked for what must have been the hundredth time.

  Khollo grinned at the northerner. “I’ll tell you when we’re at sea.” Sven had asked the same question repeatedly since Khollo had arrived in Narne with L’tel and introduced the plainsman to Halena, Sven, and Aralye. They had spent the subsequent days getting to know each other better while a ship was being prepared. Dur
ing this time, Khollo had discovered that despite Sven’s size and skill with an axe, he was only a month or two older than Khollo himself. The others were slightly younger than Khollo, Halena the youngest of them all.

  “You should know by now he won’t tell us, Sven,” Halena said reasonably. “Just let it go until we’re on the ship.”

  “Fine, but not a moment longer,” Sven replied, looking at Khollo suspiciously. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “Of course,” Khollo replied easily, sliding through a crowded intersection of two major streets. “We’re going to the harbor. Then we’re getting on a ship – ”

  “ – and sailing for points unknown,” Aralye finished.

  “Temporarily unknown,” Khollo corrected. “Trust me, I will tell you everything when you need to know it.”

  Sven subsided, still grumbling a little, but they made the rest of the journey to the harbor in peace. Khollo led the way through the south gate, then unerringly found the right jetty and stepped down onto it, striding eagerly towards the mid-sized schooner moored at the far end of it. The ship had two masts and a narrow, sleek hull built for speed and nothing else. Khollo walked right up to the gangplank bridging the gap between the ship and the dock and looked around for the captain.

  “Permission to come aboard?” he called.

  A heavyset man with a mane of gray hair and a ragged beard leaned over the side, looking down at Khollo. “Ah, there you are. Permission granted, sir. Welcome.”

  Khollo strode quickly up the plank, gesturing for the others to follow. The young Keeper didn’t recognize the heavyset man, but he had the look of a sailor. There were several other men on the deck of the ship, but none were the captain.

  “I’m Khollo,” he explained to the sailor who had welcomed them aboard, “Is Captain Eralm around?”

  “He’s at the harbormaster’s office, squarin’ a few last details,” the sailor explained. “He told me to keep an eye out for you five and to let you aboard when you got here. I’m Jorgen by the way, first mate of the Southern Star,” he added, extending a massive hand for Khollo to shake.