The Captive

by Paul Lauritsen

  Relam guessed not, or he would not see so many unconcerned or cheerful expressions. The faces he passed were the faces of people who had hope ahead of them after a hard year. The line of kings had been preserved, despite an uprising in the kingdom’s greatest stronghold, the vertaga had been beaten back again, and the Keepers had vowed to protect the Sthan Kingdom. Yes, for most of these people the future was bright and full of promise. Spring would bring rejuvenation and new opportunities, the chance to push forward and thrive.

  But only if Relam did not fall to the Masks and let them take over the world. And if he was to avoid that fate, he needed help.

  They passed the Citadel, Relam hardly sparing the massive structure a glance, and proceeded straight to Oreius’ side gate. The king let himself in, his four guards following close behind, and made his way around the back to the gardens. He found them empty, save for the skeletal outlines of Oreius’ leafless trees and the frost-bitten carcasses of his flowers. The fountain still gurgled, but it seemed an afterthought in this colder version of the world. Farther away, the river moved past sluggishly, an occasional ice flow spinning in the current. Ice had started creeping out from the banks too, but it was not cold enough yet for the whole river to freeze over. But it was coming. Relam could feel the chill of winter in his bones, despite his heavy cloak.

  “Where is he?” Wil asked, looking around. “Never known the sword master to be anywhere but yon bench.”

  “He’ll be inside, in the kitchen,” Relam guessed. “Might be watching us even now.”

  As he spoke, he began moving towards the back door. He was rounding the fountain when the wooden portal swung open to reveal Oreius, standing on the threshold.

  “I wondered if you would come by again anytime soon,” he called. “Come on in, out of the cold.”

  “Afternoon, old-timer,” Wil said cheerfully as they moved into the house. “What’s wrong? Did the bench get too cold?”

  “Aye,” Oreius grunted, glaring at the impudent guardsman. “This time of year I can only sit there so long before I’m as frozen as the river.”

  “Which isn’t frozen,” Relam pointed out, grinning.

  “Will be,” the sword master grunted, bolting the back door and moving towards the front of the house. “Any day now, mark my words. The season won’t be as long as last year, but it will be just as cold or colder if I’m any judge.”

  “Well, as long as it’s shorter we’ll manage,” Relam replied, following him into the sitting room. His guards lagged behind, Galen manning the front door, Johann and Wil taking the back entrance, Eric guarding the main hallway.

  “What brought you here today?” Oreius asked finally, bending over by the fire place and rummaging in the wood basket. He selected a log and laid it on top of the smoldering fire, poking at the coals with a long, cast-iron rod. “Not training, I hope?”

  “No,” Relam agreed ruefully. “Training wouldn’t be much fun this time of year. And, I haven’t the time.”

  “Even with your regents?”

  “Even with them,” Relam confirmed. “Their help has allowed me to catch up and actually get to everything I need to be doing, but my days are still full.”

  “Hmm, pity. Then why are you here?”

  “For advice,” Relam explained, taking a seat near the fire. “You’re one of the smartest people I know as far as tactics, Oreius, and you have a great deal of experience.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying I’m old,” Oreius observed, smiling slightly as he stepped back from the fire and took a seat as well.

  “Sorry,” Relam said quickly.

  “No, don’t apologize,” the sword master told him. “I’m not offended. Just making an observation. Getting old is a fact of life, Relam. It will happen to you too someday.”

  “Maybe,” Relam grunted, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. “Maybe not.”

  “Ah,” Oreius said, tapping his knee thoughtfully. “This is about the Masks, then?”

  “Among other things.”

  The old man nodded wisely. “They are a thorny problem. You need more information to act on, but you can’t get it or they’ll act against you first. The good news is, we know what they’re after.”

  “The throne.”

  “Yes, and a new kingdom. They backed D’Arnlo and Thius, supremacists. I think it is safe to assume the Masks have the same end goal, or a similar one. What makes them dangerous though is their anonymity and their patience.”

  “What if we take one of those away?”

  Oreius frowned thoughtfully. “Instinct tells me it will be hard to outlast them and try their patience. They waited all through D’Arnlo’s scheme, then let him fail. They didn’t reveal themselves right after either. No, these people have a long term vision, and they won’t be tricked into making hasty decisions or making dangerous mistakes. As far as their anonymity . . . ”

  “We can’t investigate them,” Relam finished. “So, we can’t take that element away.”

  “Not yet,” Oreius said, holding up a warning finger. “But, we are making progress there, believe it or not.”

  “What?” the young king asked, leaning forward. “How come I haven’t heard about this?”

  “Early stages,” Oreius replied. “Narin had an idea about the people we’re tracking.”

  “Go on,” Relam urged. “You wouldn’t have told me this much if you weren’t going to say more.”

  “I’m going to tell you,” Oreius grunted, getting to his feet. “But it will be easier to show you as well. Meet me in the dining room, kick your guards out if you have to. They can wait in the kitchen, as long as they haven’t adopted Narin’s habit of raiding my pantry.

  “If they have, we’ll soon cure them of it,” Relam replied, chuckling.

  He moved to the rear of the house, summarily evicting Wil and Johann from the dining room, then took a seat to wait for Oreius. While he was waiting, Relam stared out the back window, through the strange bubbled glass Oreius used all throughout his house. The wintery world looked even stranger and more foreign when viewed through this sort of lens, a confused landscape of grays and whites.

  Oreius returned a few minutes later, bearing a thick scroll more than a meter wide. “Now,” he said, setting the scroll down and beginning to unroll it. “Remember, we’re in the early days still, but we think this could be the key to unraveling the mystery of the Masks.”

  Relam leaned over the table, examining the scroll. It was not a report or an analysis as he had anticipated, but a map. A map of Etares, to be precise.

  “I don’t follow,” the young king said slowly. “How does a map of Etares help us? Although,” he added quickly, “I’m impressed with the level of detail. You’ve even got an updated schematic of the western portion of the city.”

  “A simple map is useless,” Oreius agreed. “But look closer. Notice anything?”

  “Lines,” Relam murmured, tracing a collection of them that overlaid several streets. “What’s with all the colors?”

  “Each color is a different person we are tracking,” Oreius explained. “The staff of some of the nobles Cevet identified, some suspects among the criminal element, some contacts both groups have met up with multiple times – ”

  “You need a bigger map.”

  “This is only one of them, there’s another dozen like it tucked away,” Oreius grunted. “Narin insists we store them here, less likely to fall into the wrong hands then at the Citadel.”

  “Still trouble on that front?”

  “No trouble, but no trust either,” Oreius replied, shaking his head. “We just don’t know who was involved. There are a few who are solid, but not enough.”

  Relam frowned. “Do we have soldiers we can count on, Oreius? Anywhere?”

  “Probably not in the Citadel,” the sword master replied heavily. “But the city guard seems to be safe.”

  “And they outnumber the Citadel several times over,” Relam murmured. “And we could pull reinforcements from Ardia,
Mizzran, Gobel-Tek, Jalakash, Narne, and Ostgard.”

  “You sound like you’re planning a war.”

  “Not planning one,” Relam said, shaking his head. “I’m not looking for a fight. But I’m preparing for one anyways. Something is going to happen, Oreius, I can feel it.”

  “I know. This whole thing with the Masks has me on edge as well,” the old warrior admitted.

  “How long until these maps start providing any usable information?” Relam asked.

  “Too long,” Oreius grunted. “There’s so much to track and analyze . . . we spend hours each day just updating the maps we have. There’s no real pattern yet that we can see, but maybe once we have enough data points we’ll have something to work off of.”

  “Who’s gathering this information?”

  “Narin’s best contacts,” Oreius replied immediately.

  “There’s no chance they’ve been turned?”

  “No. They operate in the underworld, but they don’t have that sort of background. They’re people we can trust.”

  “Even with the Masks on the loose?”

  “Yes. We’re being careful, Relam, I promise.”

  “Good,” the young king murmured. “You might try spreading this information out some, using more maps. Might make it clearer. Or put all of the information on one person on the same map.”

  “We’re short on maps.”

  “I’ll send more over.”

  “Send them with Cevet,” Oreius suggested. “He visits regularly enough, and he can easily hide maps under a cloak or in a bag.”

  “I’ll see it done,” Relam promised. “So, you’ll have your maps, and we’ll keep getting more information. Maybe pinpoint a denser area of operations. What then?”

  “We watch that area,” Oreius said, shrugging. “Identify anyone who might be a higher up, assign a team to tail them. See if we can identify any lairs or hideouts. Even if we do, I don’t think it would be wise to raid them unless we are very confident in our discoveries.”

  “Or unless we have identified enough that it will be a major blow,” Relam agreed. “If we identified three or four bases and hit them all simultaneously – ”

  “It might rattle them,” Oreius interrupted, “But it won’t stop them. Unless we can stop them or slow them, we can’t strike. Right now, they are confident and complacent. It makes them vulnerable. If they’re put on their guard, the battle becomes that much harder.”

  “Good point,” Relam murmured. “I hate not being able to act though.”

  “The time will come,” Oreius promised. “Eventually.”

  “If we all live to see it.”

  The sword master grunted. “For now, let us handle the Masks, Relam. We’ll keep thinking and watching, and the moment we’ve got something we’ll send word. What you need to do, is keep being king and keep this kingdom running.”

  “How can I? Having a death sentence hanging over me is kind of restricting my options here.”

  “It shouldn’t be,” Oreius told him, “You’re stronger than that, and more important. This is what they want, an embattled king who is confined, out of site of the people. If you aren’t seen being king, rumors will start to circulate, maybe fueled by the Masks. More things will start to go wrong, and you’ll get the blame. By the time you react, it will be too late. You will have lost the people.”

  “What can I do?” Relam demanded. “I can’t just ride around the city talking to people and making them feel important.”

  “No, but you can be a good king,” Oreius said patiently. “Hold your court days, arbitrate disputes, be seen inspecting the progress on the west side, discussing improvements with the harbor master, things like that. Be seen taking an interest in the health of the city.”

  “We’ve been cleaning the river.”

  “No, you assigned a team to clean the river and have supervised them,” Oreius corrected. “You haven’t been seen doing anything. It’s being done in your name, yes, but that’s not as strong. Get in front of the people, make them proud of you.”

  Relam took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “All right,” he said finally, “I’ll try.”

  “Good. There’s another thing this will do,” Oreius added, “It will show the Masks you are not afraid of them. That you are confident enough to leave the palace, that you have faith in your own abilities and the help of your friends. They sent the arrow through your window to scare you, and for the last couple of weeks it has looked like they got exactly the result they were looking for.”

  “Why do that?” Relam demanded. “It makes no sense! All they did by sending the message arrow was put me on my guard, and an alert enemy is more dangerous, we both know that.”

  “I can only guess,” Oreius replied, “But I think it is a good guess. Of course, I’m a little biased.”

  “Noted,” Relam grunted. “What’s your guess?”

  “My guess,” Oreius said slowly, “Is they are waiting on something specific. Events are brewing somewhere in this world that they are watching closely, biding their time. Maybe it’s taking longer than they expected. Whatever the case, this seems like a stalling tactic to me. They were trying to get you to draw in, close up, reduce operations. Maybe you or Cevet were onto something, maybe not. But my best guess is they needed more time."

  “Time,” Relam murmured. “That makes sense. They’ve been pretty well left alone these past two weeks. But what do they need time for?”

  Oreius frowned, concerned. “That,” he replied, “Is one of many answers I don’t have.”

  Chapter 26:

  The Next Phase

  “Cowards,” Garnuk muttered, “They are all cowards.”

  “Refusing to fight does not make them weak,” Tarq replied stubbornly.

  “It makes them traitors,” Garnuk growled. “They will not share in their Ramshuk’s vision!”

  Garnuk had returned from Banta Kodu more than a week ago, but he was still fuming inside. He had wanted to discuss the matter with Tarq much sooner, but the captain had been away from Dun Carryl on Shadow Squadron business. Garnuk didn’t know where the captain had been, just that he hadn’t been available. So the hatred and frustration of his failed expedition had been gnawing at Garnuk and festering inside of him all the while, waiting for the moment to emerge.

  “Then they will not see the benefits when we control this world,” Tarq said, shrugging. “More world for us.”

  “If they do not fight, we may not have the world,” Garnuk snapped, thrusting his jaw forward.

  “Even if they do fight, we may not have the world,” Tarq countered. “I’m not convinced Garnuk. I’ve reviewed the numbers, compared them to the last war and the one before. Even with Zanove’s impressive abilities, we are disadvantaged.”

  “As I have been telling you,” Garnuk growled, “The Keepers will rip the Sthan apart for us. Or at least soften them up.”

  “Will they? I haven’t seen that happen yet.”

  “Because it is not the proper time.”

  “Proper time?” Tarq demanded. “When is the proper time then? Zanove is grown, he breathes fire, he has immense destructive potential. What else is there to wait for?”

  “He is raw,” Garnuk prevaricated. “He has not the experience we need to be successful.”

  “Then fly some more practice missions,” Tarq suggested. “But leave some survivors. Let rumors begin to spread.”

  Garnuk frowned. “Without the Banuk?”

  Tarq roared in frustration, leaping to his feet and pacing around the small stone room furiously. “Why must you return to this issue? Every single problem you lay on the Banuk. Why?”

  “They are traitors,” Garnuk repeated. “They will not fight. And we need them.”

  “They cannot be forced to comply,” Tarq told him. “You saw what happened when you went to them.”

  “They dared to attack me,” Garnuk murmured. “They will be repaid for their act of defiance.”

  “The dared to threaten you,”
Tarq corrected. “They did not actually attack, remember?”

  “They may as well have. I should have let Zanove flame them to ashes and been done with the Banuk, Carh, Koah and all of their hornless, isolationist ideas.”

  Tarq frowned, studying Garnuk. “You’ve changed,” he decided finally. “The ram I came to know over the last year would not let himself get distracted this way. You relied on your wits, your schemes, the few people you could trust.”

  “Last time was different,” Garnuk grunted. “Last year, I was not leading a war. I was interfering with one. And I was dealing with the Usurper, not the whole Sthan kingdom.”

  “Yet you killed their king.”

  “It was an opportunity which could not be passed up. Our last war was about stopping the Usurper and destroying him. Killing the Sthan king bought me the time to do so.”

  “And what is this war about?” Tarq asked quietly.

  Garnuk glanced at him sharply. “The future of our people,” he replied confidently.

  Tarq shook his head. “No, it’s not. It’s about revenge again, isn’t it, general?”

  “And if it is?” Garnuk challenged.

  “Then I am worried we have set ourselves on the wrong path,” Tarq murmured.

  Garnuk laughed scornfully, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. “We are on the right path. There is no other choice, no other option. The Keepers must fall.”

  “The Keepers,” Tarq interrupted. “They are your focus, Garnuk, not the Sthan. They always have been this time around. I understand why you want this, why you want to destroy them, but using our entire race in a revenge scheme is not – ”

  “Using them,” Garnuk laughed, “I am not using them, Tarq. I am leading them. With the current balance of power in the world there is endless potential for our kin. We will rise again.”

  “How can we?” Tarq demanded. “You are ignoring basic facts of war and tactics, Garnuk. The Sthan outnumber us badly, our forces are depleted by the war that ended just a few months ago, and the Banuk are refusing to join us.”