The Captive

by Paul Lauritsen

  The lordlings arrived next, in various states of alertness. Delan was still nearly asleep and Jatt was bumbling about more than usual. Cevet on the other hand looked more or less normal, besides the fact that he was clad in drab, rough clothes. It appeared he had been pulled off of his spy work for the meeting.

  Narin, Oreius, and Tar arrived together, a few minutes after the regents and Eckle. Narin was still half asleep, but Oreius and Tar seemed to be wide awake.

  Clemon was the last to arrive, and was in an extremely foul mood. The chatelain had been working late and finally retired to his quarters when the messenger had woken him. In addition, the chatelain’s appearance was less than impeccable, since he had been hurried to the council room as swiftly as possible.

  When everyone had seated themselves and Galen was satisfied they were safe from unwelcome guests, Relam started the meeting. The council room was quite crowded, with every seat at the table full and the walls lined with his personal guards.

  “Thank you all for coming at such a late hour,” the young king began, his voice carrying easily around the room. “This evening, we have had new developments in the search to find and destroy what remains of D’Arnlo’s followers.”

  The lordlings and sword masters stirred with interest. Cevet was wearing a puzzled frown, no doubt wondering why Relam had summoned them so late merely to reveal the existence of the Council of Masks. Relam pulled out a copy of the message the council had sent, and held it aloft for everyone to see.

  “An hour or two ago, this was shot through my study window on a message arrow,” he said. “It’s from a group called the Council of Masks. For those who don’t know, they are an underworld segment that seems to be richly funded but uninterested in the smaller crimes which plague our city. We’re not sure what their end goal is or who they are, but we know now they are far more important than we originally thought. I’ll read their message to you now.”

  Relam lowered the note so he could read it easier, and read through it from beginning to end. By the time he had finished, the room had gone deathly silent, save for the occasional sound of rustling clothes or armor as someone shifted position uneasily.

  Oreius was the first to break the silence. “It is not so bad as it sounds,” he observed slowly.

  “Not so bad?” Delan demanded, interrupting the sword master furiously. “These . . . scum have threatened our king and friend! They could have killed him tonight, but luckily they didn’t.”

  “I believe that is the point Oreius was about to make,” Tar said quietly. “Let him finish.”

  “Thank you, Tar,” Oreius said gruffly. “Now, as I was saying, it’s not as bad as we think. Yes, this message is rather threatening and the fact this new adversary perceives their power to be so great is worrying. But there is no immediate danger. They could have killed Relam tonight but they didn’t. And, according to this note, they don’t plan to.”

  “Why not?” Clemon asked. “They have made their intentions clear. They want the throne. The only way to achieve that end is to eliminate his majesty.”

  “Yes,” Oreius agreed, “But the manner of the elimination has to be perfect to allow them an opportunity. After the events of the last year, another mysterious death would only arouse suspicion and distrust of the next regime to take over. This Council of Masks would have their hands full quelling rebellions around the kingdom for years afterward. But, if Relam were to die tragically, in a perfectly logical or expected way, they have an opportunity.”

  “How?” Sebast asked. “They’re criminals. How could they ever hope to reach the throne?”

  “They’re not criminals,” Cevet replied. “That’s the trick, Sebast. These are noblemen in disguise, masquerading as criminals to dominate the underworld, which is rich with skilled operatives and highly useful eyes and ears. People fear them. I tried to get more information about them tonight, but no one will say anything. I suspect,” he added heavily, “This is due in part to the death of the last informer I spoke to.”

  “So our eyes and ears are useless?” Narin groaned.

  “For the time being,” Cevet said, shrugging. “I think the other key point here is this message claims the Council of Masks was behind D’Arnlo’s uprising, and they used him as a pawn.”

  “Based on what I know of D’Arnlo, he would not let himself be used,” Tar observed.

  “No,” Relam agreed, “But maybe this council offered him support and goaded him into putting his plan in motion. Maybe that is how they believe they used him. He certainly did clear the way for them, and make things a little easier for the next group of people waiting to seize the throne.”

  “We should see if Lord Thius knows anything about the Council of Masks,” Clemon suggested, not looking at Cevet. “It is possible he interacted with them during his part in the uprising.”

  “Possible,” Cevet agreed. “But, my father has not been particularly helpful so far. I don’t see how we could convince him to share any information he has.”

  “We’d have to show him we can take down the Council of Masks,” Relam said, looking around at the others. “That’s the only way I think he could be convinced.”

  “Why would that help?” Jatt asked.

  “Because with the Council of Masks at large, he is at risk,” Narin explained. “We are content to keep him in a nice cell. But if he knows anything, you can bet the Council of Masks is working on finding a way to eliminate him before he shares what he knows.”

  “In that case, we need to tighten security on him,” Relam decided. “Galen, make sure Commander Eckle is aware of this development and prepared for any attempt on Ryker Thius’ life.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” Galen replied instantly, bowing slightly.

  “Is there anything else?” Knet asked, yawning. “It’s late, you know.”

  “There’s more to do yet,” Relam grunted. “We need to figure out how to respond to this threat. If we need to change anything we’re doing for a little while.”

  “The first and obvious move is to reduce our activities in the underworld,” Narin said heavily. “We keep a few eyes and ears we can trust, and the tails Cevet has put on some of our suspects. But outside of that, there will be no more direct inquisition into the Council of Masks. They won’t tolerate more questions, and we know they’re not afraid to kill off a few operatives.” He glanced at Cevet. “They would not even hesitate to kill you, either.”

  Cevet nodded gravely. “I know. It seems they identified me as well, when I met with the informer. I’m mentioned explicitly in their message. For the time being, I’ll lay low and try and work on my father.”

  “Good plan,” Narin said, nodding approvingly. “As far as other precautions, I don’t think there is much we need to do. They don’t seem interested in killing Relam themselves, through assassination or any other, ah, conventional means used to seize a throne.”

  “But they have something planned,” Oreius pointed out thoughtfully. “They have a plan, and it seems likely that it is in motion. And they are confident it will succeed.”

  “We need to find out what their plan is,” Relam decided, looking around the room. “Keep your eyes and ears open, but don’t go looking for trouble. Any suspicions you have, you come straight to me. Anybody have something to add?”

  “Yeah,” Delan interjected, “The outlaw groups and the Mizzran uprisings. Do we think those are connected?”

  “Yes,” Sebast said, without hesitation. “We already suspected remnants of D’Arnlo’s allies to be behind those groups. Seems likely now that it was the Council of Masks all along.”

  “Then do we keep investigating them?”

  Relam hesitated, weighing the risks. “Yes,” he said finally. “We keep investigating them. Not as mercenaries of the Council of Masks, but as rogue groups who must be put down for the protection of the Sthan people.”

  “These bandit groups are not directly associated with anyone as far as we know,” Delan mused, “So the Council of Masks may
not even be too upset if they start disappearing. I think this is a good approach for now.”

  “Knet,” Relam said, glancing at the nervous lordling, “How is the raid on the Sabashrin shaping up?”

  “Planning stages right now,” Knet reported. “Soldiers are being mustered and commanders selected. Might happen sometime next week if we’re lucky.”

  “Remember, prisoners if possible, but don’t let anyone escape,” Relam warned. “We don’t want it getting back to the Council of Masks that we’re hunting their mercenaries.”

  “We should proceed carefully on all fronts,” Oreius agreed, looking around the room. “Whatever is coming, we need to be ready for it. Remember, these underworld lords have promised that D’Arnlo was only the beginning. His uprising nearly succeeded, and would have if not for Cevet and a desperate battle.” The sword master met Relam’s gaze and held it. “I think it’s safe to assume victory will not be quite so simple this time around.”

  Chapter 19:

  The First Test

  In the deep halls of Dun Carryl, Garnuk was preparing for battle for the first time in months.

  Around him stood the rams of Shadow Squadron, watching impassively as Tarq and three armorers helped Garnuk with his new armor. He had commissioned it soon after the gathering of clans, and the forges had worked day and night to finish it in time.

  The Ramshuk’s thick legs and arms were completely encased in metal backed by thick, black leather to protect him from heat. Overlapping triangular plates that moved and flexed with his body were overlaid with larger plates on the front of his legs and arms. Similar triangular scales, rather like Zanove’s, wrapped around his chest and back. He still wore a breastplate over the scale armor, since the scales looked a little strange and outlandish on their own.

  On Garnuk’s head went an oversized, full face helm. The helm completely encased his head and horns, and covered his neck down to the scale armor behind his breast plate. The eye slits were narrow, restricting his peripheral vision badly, but he would not need the additional range of sight in these battles.

  The purpose of the helm was for looks more than anything else. Everything about the plates and the helm had been designed after the fashion of men. Garnuk even wore a black and silver cloak hanging from his right shoulder, though he thought it looked and felt ridiculous. Why humans thought the things stylish he had no idea. On the back of the cloak was an image of a soaring dragon, painted in silver.

  When at last the armorers stepped back, Garnuk paused, savoring the moment. Then, he slowly began to move, testing the flexibility of the plates. They moved and molded with his muscles seamlessly, a perfect, if heavy, cocoon of metal from which he could strike out with impunity. Garnuk reached over to the armorer’s table and picked up the last piece of his equipment, the sword.

  This sword was made of glittering, silver steel rather than the darker iron vertaga normally used for weapons. It had been borrowed from one of the human outlaw groups Shadow Squadron was in contact with, and refashioned for this mission. The sword was large and simple, a double-edged blade that was longer than Garnuk’s outstretched arm. It was so large that even with his height he had to sling it across his back to carry it comfortably. The Ramshuk did this now, sliding the sword through the scabbard held to his back with a baldric.

  “It is time,” he announced, taking a heavy step forward. His foot landed with a dull clank of metal on stone. “Today, we take the first step towards a new age, and towards victory.”

  Shadow Squadron growled in agreement, then cleared the way for Garnuk to leave the small room. Garnuk led the way out the door and across the hall, to where Zanove was waiting.

  The silver dragon was standing quietly in front of the door when Garnuk entered. The Ramshuk reached out with his thoughts, finding Zanove’s mind easily.

  We fly to battle? Zanove asked eagerly.

  Yes, Garnuk agreed. It is time.

  The silver dragon arched his neck over his back, looking at the black saddle strapped firmly around his middle and secured to the spikes on his back. I do not like this thing, he observed uneasily. It itches, and rubs in places it should not.

  It is necessary, Garnuk promised him. You will not have to wear it often, only when we fight. Besides, you would not want my armor rubbing against your scales. It has many sharp edges.

  Very well, Zanove agreed, dropping to his belly so Garnuk could mount. I will tolerate it. But we should look into improving the design after this raid.

  Of course, Garnuk promised, heaving himself into the saddle. But first, the raid.

  Yes, Zanove agreed eagerly, letting out a roar that shook the room. It is time to strike back!

  The world will learn to fear, Garnuk told the dragon. They will rue the day the Keepers abandoned you. They will curse the day they massacred so many vertaga, and they will see the fires of justice consume the world they know.

  Zanove extended his wings, though there was nowhere to fly yet. He flapped experimentally, and they rose from the ground slightly before settling again. Garnuk leaned left, right, forwards, and backwards in the saddle, checking it for weaknesses. As far as he could tell, the seat was well-secured.

  It is time.

  Zanove slowly paced through the open doorway, passing members of Shadow Squadron and the armorers. The vertaga watched in awe as their leader rode the silver dragon down the hall a short distance, to the place where Dun Carryl had been cracked open by the Keepers. Beyond the torn gap in the rock, there was only starry sky and nearby mountains. The moon was up, but it would not hinder them in their mission. This was a mere practice run, a quick extermination of a village or two to see what he and Zanove could accomplish together.

  At the end of the hall, where the rock dropped away sharply to the rubble below, Zanove paused.

  You are ready? he asked.

  Yes, Garnuk replied instantly. Are you?

  Zanove spread his wings and roared eagerly. Then, the silver dragon dove forward, off the ledge. At first they were falling, plummeting towards the ground below. Then, Zanove rotated his wings and they were soaring, pulling out of the steep dive to go hurtling across the heathlands surrounding Dun Carryl.

  The speed of their passage took Garnuk’s breath away. In mere minutes they were among the surrounding mountains, gliding past snowy peaks he would ordinarily have had to spend hours climbing. He looked down and saw ravines and canyons, no larger than his finger from this height. All of these places he had spent days and weeks hiking or marching across. Now, every landmark, village, and outpost in the Fells was within a few hours with Zanove’s help.

  Zanove beat his wings faster and dropped lower among the mountains, opting for speed rather than altitude. What’s our first target? he asked Garnuk eagerly.

  Garnuk considered this, looking around at the mountains, trying to get his bearings. Everything looked different from the air, yet also vaguely familiar. He recognized an old landmark from his days in exile and checked it against his mental map.

  A little to the right, over that pass there. We will be at the flatlands soon at this speed.

  Zanove adjusted his course as directed, swooping over a snow-shrouded forest of pines, shaking the drifts from the branches they had settled on. This world is large, the silver dragon observed, awe coloring his mental tone.

  It is, Garnuk agreed. But not to us. We can go anywhere, do anything faster than anyone else in the world.

  Except the Keepers.

  Garnuk frowned. Yes, except maybe them. But they are far away right now. Which is why we chose tonight for this first mission.

  The Keepers are gone?

  For now. They were seen flying south across the sea.

  Is there something south of the sea?

  Just ice, Garnuk replied, shrugging.

  That is odd. Couldn’t they find ice somewhere else?

  I don’t think it is ice they’re looking for.

  But that is all there is south of the sea, Zanove replied, puzzled. Yo
u said so yourself.

  Ice is the only thing we know of across the sea, Garnuk replied patiently. There might be something else there.

  Should we be trying to find the something else before they do?

  No. It is unimportant.

  How do you know?

  Garnuk scowled. Because we have something more important here, on the mainland, an opportunity. While the Keepers are gone, we will grow strong and strike against the Sthan kingdom. By the time the Keepers return, it will be too late for them to change the tide of history.

  Oh, Zanove said. We will still get to fight them, yes?

  Of course. They will have to be dealt with.

  Good. I look forward to that day.

  Garnuk grinned to himself, then checked their course again. A little further east, he told Zanove.

  East? The silver dragon faltered momentarily, confused. Is east more like left or right?

  Garnuk cursed himself for not thinking to teach the silver dragon simple directions sooner. East is to the right, for now.

  Does east change?

  The Ramshuk debated the best way to answer this question, wondering how badly it might distract or confuse the ignorant beast he was riding. Finally, he decided they would be flying for a while and he might as well spend the time educating Zanove.

  East is always in the same direction, Garnuk explained, pointing to the right. And that is always north, west, and south.

  So east is always to the right?

  No, Garnuk said as patiently as he could. Right now, east is to the right. But it you were to turn to the left, east would be behind you.

  Zanove pondered this for a moment. I am not sure I understand. It moves but it does not move?

  Garnuk nearly gave up at this point, then decided to see things through to the end. He couldn’t control Zanove forever without the silver dragon having some basic knowledge of the world. Think of it this way: if you were standing in front of Dun Carryl, looking towards it, it would be in front of you. But if you turned around, it would be behind you. East, north, south, and west are the same way. They stay in the same location, but when we move the direction they are relative to us changes.