The Captive

by Paul Lauritsen

  “Good,” Cevet said, “They’ve earned it. I’ve rarely seen such industry!”

  Sarek chuckled to himself. “You caught them on a good day, lord regent. I think they noticed you and his majesty and wanted to impress the pair of you.”

  “Well, they succeeded,” Relam laughed. “Brund, you say there is leftover money right now?”

  “Quite a bit, yes.”

  “Hire more workers, then,” Relam commanded, gesturing to the surrounding construction. “We need these buildings up as fast as possible. And if you could, set aside some funds for extra firewood and blankets to distribute to those who don’t have a new home yet.”

  “They would welcome that,” Brund agreed fervently. “You know how chilly the nights can get.”

  “I haven’t recently,” Relam replied, “But I remember when I went on the original mission to clear those bandits out of the Midwood – and secure your funding for this project. That was earlier in the season, but the nights were still brisk.”

  “It’s worse than brisk now,” Cevet put in.

  Relam gave him a long look, wondering if Cevet was running around the city at night again, playing at being a spy. But the regent kept his expression carefully neutral, revealing nothing. Foiled, the young king turned back to Brund and his foremen.

  “You’re doing excellent work,” he said again. “Now, let’s go and visit the – ”

  “Brund! Is that you up there?”

  Brund shuffled to the edge of the floor and looked down, Relam following even more carefully. Far below, he could see a squadron of city guards with a familiar figure at their head.

  “Hadere!” Relam cried. “Good to see you. What brings you all the way over here?”

  “Your majesty!” Hadere saluted crisply, his squadron following suit. “An unexpected surprise, but a pleasant one. And is that young Cevet up there as well?”

  “Yes,” the regent called, waving to Hadere.

  “Most fortuitous,” the soldier replied. “Are you all coming down or shall I come up?”

  “We were just finishing touring the site,” Brund replied. “We’ll be down directly. Just a moment, commander.”

  “Take as much time as you need. I can wait.”

  Brund waved a hand in acknowledgement, then led the way to the nearest flight of stairs. The small band wove their way through the workers on the second level, then descended to ground level. When they emerged from the front of the building, Hadere was waiting right where they had last seen him, staring up at one of the cranes, his mouth hanging slightly open as his head tilted back.

  “Fun to watch, aren’t they?” Cevet asked eagerly, stepping past Relam to clap the commander on the shoulder.

  “Aye,” Hadere agreed, grinning at Cevet and Relam in turn. “Mind you, I’ve no head for heights, but seeing the way these buildings have developed over the past months has been truly exciting.”

  “You didn’t wander all the way out here just to watch my workers again, did you?” Brund asked.

  “Partially,” Hadere grunted, his expression turning sober as he tore his gaze from the crane. “I’m primarily here to discuss increasing security around the sites.”

  “I thought crime was dropping?” Relam asked, surprised.

  “It has been,” Hadere said, shrugging. “But as winter sets in, some of the criminal types tend to get more desperate. Especially those without shelter. They look for easy marks, like the folks who are living in the tent camps in the area.”

  “Marks?” Cevet asked, blinking.

  “Targets,” Hadere clarified. “Victims.”

  “Oh,” the regent said, nodding. “I get it.”

  “Your patrols are always welcome,” Brund told the commander. “By the way, his majesty has just requested we recruit some more workers to help with the project. I almost hate to ask, but . . . ”

  “We’ll try and round up a few more,” Hadere promised. “There have got to be some people who could use a little more work and some extra money for the winter.”

  “Only if they are willing,” Relam interjected quickly, not wanting to be misunderstood. “Don’t go around conscripting people just because I want the project done faster. If there are no more willing workers, we will just continue as we are.”

  “Understood. We’ll spread the word, keep an eye out. Brund, I’ll add another three squadrons to your rotation. Do you think that will be enough?”

  “See for yourself,” Cevet suggested. “We were just heading to the tent camps to survey the situation. You can join us if you want.”

  “Good idea,” Hadere agreed, “And that way I can figure out how to deploy my men most effectively.”

  “This way, then,” Brund said. “Sarek, Ryle, you’re dismissed for now. If anyone is looking for me, tell them I’m be back at the command post in an hour or so.”

  “Aye, master builder,” Sarek agreed, touching his index finger to his brow in an informal salute. “We’ll do that. It was an honor your majesty, regent,” he added, bowing to Relam and Cevet.

  “Likewise,” Relam replied. “Take care Sarek, Ryle. Pass our compliments on to your men. They’ve earned them.”

  “We will,” Ryle promised. “Anyway, time we were getting back to work.” The two foremen moved quickly back towards the cluster of incomplete buildings, shouting to their subordinates for updates on the project.

  “They’re solid men,” Brund observed as he turned to the north. “Very capable, highly organized.”

  “And they get things done,” Hadere added. “That’s the sort of person you want to have around, people who get things done. Like Cevet here,” he added, giving the younger man a friendly buffet. Cevet staggered a half pace, then rubbed his shoulder, grinning ruefully.

  “Maybe I should be a little less impressive,” he suggested.

  Hadere laughed. “Sorry, lad, don’t know my own strength sometimes. It’s true though, you know how to get things done. What with your projects over the last few months, stepping up and acting as a regent . . . you’re reminding me more and more of your father.”

  “Before he turned?” Cevet asked pointedly.

  Hadere winced and nodded apologetically. “Yes, before . . . well, we all know what happened.”

  “Be that as it may,” Brund interrupted, “Your father accomplished much, Cevet. There are few who could have done what he did, with the means at his disposal.”

  “That may be,” the young regent growled, “But I am not my father. I think I have proven that decisively over the last year. Anyone who says different – ” He broke off and scowled, looking away from the others and avoiding eye contact.

  The awkward silence was broken a moment later as they rounded the side of one of the completed buildings and were confronted by a row of canvas tents. Men, women, and children were scattered all around, some sitting outside of their shelters in makeshift chairs, others huddled around small fires. They looked up at Brund with dull eyes, but when their gazes found Relam, he noticed that a spark was kindled therein.

  “The extra firewood and blankets are certainly in order,” Relam murmured to Brund as they moved through the camp quietly. “If you run low on funds, you have but to ask and the crown will help.”

  “Food is running low too, your majesty,” Brund replied in an undertone. “These people were not rich to begin with, and being displaced as they are, even temporarily, has made them all the poorer.”

  “Then we will help feed them as well,” Relam agreed. “Start with one solid meal a day, and see how things go. If needed, we will increase our aid.”

  The young king noticed a small boy lurking near one of the tents, a boy with a threadbare coat and a thin, dirty face. He had been listening intently, and Relam could see the beginnings of hope on the grimy features. He smiled kindly at the child and nodded reassuringly.

  “We will care for them all,” the young king said, raising his voice slightly, so more could hear. “They are my people, and they will be fed and sheltered unt
il their homes are rebuilt.”

  The nearest occupants of the tent camp looked up at his words, hardly daring to believe. Then, they rose and advanced towards Relam, bowing uncertainly.

  “Thank you,” they murmured over and over again. “Thank you, your majesty.”

  Relam smiled, shaking hands all around and patting bent backs reassuringly. “You are not alone,” he promised them. “Your king, and his regents, are looking after you.”

  The good news spread through the camp rapidly, and by the time the small group left, the spirits of the displaced had risen considerably. The sun was beginning to set in the west by then, and Relam and Cevet bid Brund and the others farewell. They collected Relam’s guards at the central command post of the build site, then began making their way back towards the river, Hadere and his squadron following as well.

  At the bridge, Hadere stopped and looked back at the outer wall. “I should be going,” he said reluctantly. “There is always more work to do, your majesty.”

  “So there is,” Relam agreed. “But I think we did a good thing today.”

  “Yes,” Hadere agreed, his voice tight with emotion. “A good thing. Farewell, Relam, Cevet.”

  The commander signaled to his guards, and together they retreated towards the west gate. Relam, Cevet, and the king’s guards turned and crossed the bridge, back to Etares’ east side. As they were heading back onto the River Road and moving past the Citadel, a cloaked figure intercepted them, stepping right up to Relam before Galen or any of the others could intervene.

  “Your majesty,” the figure murmured. “Meet me at Oreius’ house, three days hence. We need to talk.”

  “Narin?” Relam blurted, stunned.

  “Shh! Not now. There are eyes everywhere. Remember, Oreius’ at dusk, three days.”

  “I won’t forget,” Relam promised.

  “Good,” Narin murmured, glancing at Cevet. “Keep your wits about you. The city is not safe.” Then, the commander of the Citadel was gone, disappearing into the surrounding pedestrians in an instant.

  “What was that about?” Cevet asked in an undertone.

  Relam pulled his hood up, shielding his face from the wind and the road’s other travelers. “I don’t know. Something new must have come up.”

  “You were planning to visit the harbor tomorrow, right?” Cevet asked. “And a couple of markets the next day? Don’t you think you should cancel those trips?”

  “I’m still going,” Relam replied, determined. “The more my people see me, the harder it will be to turn them against me. If there was immediate danger, Narin would have said so.”

  “Okay,” Cevet said. “It’s your call.”

  They made the rest of the journey back to the palace in silence, but the pleasant warmth and accomplishment Relam had been feeling since visiting Brund and the tent camps had vanished. Once more, worry was gnawing at his core, wondering what new devilry was afoot. And wondering if there was anything he could do to counter it. The young king shook his head scornfully. He may be the most powerful noble in the world, but more and more he was feeling powerless against the tide of events.

  Chapter 29:

  The Runt and the Archer

  “Block low . . . High . . . Side . . . Low again . . .”

  THOCK!

  “Good,” Khollo said approvingly, disengaging as Halena blocked his last blow easily. “Now, faster! High! Low! High! Side! Low!”

  The girl blocked each strike competently, but not easily, using both ends of her staff, spinning it in short, savage arcs.

  “Better,” Khollo observed. “High, low, high, side, other side, low, high!”

  He increased the pace even more, Halena struggling to keep up. Then, the weary girl mistimed the final parry and her staff was knocked from her hands by Khollo’s own strike. The Keeper lowered his Sen-teel immediately and stepped back, ending the bout.

  “You’re improving,” he told her encouragingly, “But you still have a long way to go, and a great deal of work to do.”

  “I know,” Halena muttered. “I’m not a warrior, Khollo. Or at least, I wasn’t.”

  “And I know,” Khollo assured her. “But we both know if your life is on the line, it would be best for you to be able to defend yourself. So, no matter how painful or frustrating this is – ”

  “For either of us,” Halena interrupted, grinning ruefully.

  “ – we’re going to make sure you can fight,” Khollo finished. “You just need more time. And practice.”

  “Practice makes all the difference,” Aralye interjected, firing an arrow at one of her targets. “Trust me, Halena, you’ll get to a point where those patterns Khollo teaches you are instinctive. Just like I don’t have to think about how far to draw back on my bow or how much to raise it for elevation.”

  “Yes, but you’ve had years.”

  “And you have months,” Khollo agreed. “Just do the best you can, Halena. That’s all I can ask.”

  Thock, thock, whump, CRASH!

  “Easy on the shield you northern oaf!”

  “What? It’s a practice fight!”

  Khollo turned wearily, hands on his hips as he prepared to have it out with L’tel and Sven again. “L’tel, shields are designed to take a beating,” he explained wearily. “I doubt Sven could do any real damage with his practice axe. All the same, Sven, you don’t have to fight every match like it’s your last.”

  “Then how will I get better?” Sven grunted, swinging his axe again and slamming it into L’tel’s shield.

  While Khollo struggled for an answer to that question, L’tel retaliated, lunging forward with his spear, striking once, twice, three times. Sven deflected each thrust with his axe, giving ground rapidly, then batted the spear to one side and struck again, forcing L’tel to quickly cover himself with his shield.

  “Well, you’ll still get better,” Khollo said eventually. “At fighting L’tel anyway.”

  “What’s that mean?” Sven grunted. “I want to be better at fighting everyone, not just L’tel.”

  “We’re Keepers,” Halena reminded him. “We’re not here to fight everyone. Or L’tel.”

  “What I meant,” Khollo continued, “Is you’ve spent the last month sparring exclusively against L’tel. You know how he fights now, his best moves, how to counter them. But you haven’t fought against a swordsman or another axeman for weeks.”

  “Ah,” Sven said, nodding as he attacked L’tel again. “I understand. You are saying some of my skills with the axe will have grown rusty, facing just a spear and a shield all the time.”

  “Yes,” Khollo agreed.

  “You’re probably right. How do we fix that?”

  “Find a swordsman?” Aralye suggested.

  “Where?”

  “That,” Khollo said wearily, “Is the problem. We don’t have one. For the time being, we will have to continue as we are.”

  “Then why bring the matter up?” Sven demanded, smashing at L’tel’s shield again.

  “Because I don’t want you going into a fight expecting to win,” Khollo replied. “I want you to go in prepared and ready for battle, but not overconfident. If you don’t recognize your weaknesses, your shortcomings, then you might go into battle overconfident and be hurt or worse because of your lack of awareness.”

  “Noted,” Sven grunted, striking again. Again the axe slammed into L’tel’s shield, the crack of wood on wood echoing through the jungle.

  “You might try hitting where the shield isn’t,” Aralye suggested drily.

  “The problem,” Sven grunted, “Is that the shield . . . is bloody . . . everywhere!” He punctuated the complaint with an even more ferocious swing that actually forced L’tel back half a pace.

  The plainsman got his shield back into position and stood there, waiting. From behind the shelter of the oversized rectangle of wood, he grinned at Khollo.

  “I could do this all day,” he said confidently. He leaned into Sven’s blows slightly to maintain his balance, but
otherwise simply stood and held his ground while Sven continued to batter away.

  “You might think about retaliating,” Khollo suggested, “Get some actual practice that way.”

  “This way is simpler, and I am still winning.”

  Khollo shook his head in disgust and turned away. As he did, he caught sight of five glittering specs high in the sky. He shaded his eyes, grinning as he watched Kanin lead the younger dragons in complicated aerial maneuvers.

  They learn well, the emerald dragon rumbled, sensing Khollo’s thoughts. They learn very well, especially young Ayrmi.

  They have a good teacher, Khollo told him, his smile widening.

  Perhaps. They are not fluid in their movements yet, but they are capable.

  Any standing out to you?

  Ayrmi, Kanin replied without hesitation. She can change direction in her own body length, and she is fast and smart. At times, she seems the most dangerous and capable of them all despite being half the size of the others.

  That’s good, Khollo murmured. He had been worried about the purple dragon initially, wondering if Ayrmi was a runt from the hatching and if she would ever grow large enough to be ridden.

  I am bringing them back now, Kanin warned. They are tired, and I do not want to overfly them.

  Khollo nodded distractedly and turned back to his four students. “Practice is over for today,” he announced. “Let’s start putting a meal together.”

  The other Keepers quickly made for their individual holds to stow their practice gear and retrieve food. Each had a sizeable stash of meat and bread stockpiled, as well as some fruits gathered from around the island. Khollo had been monitoring the fruit gathering closely, keeping an eye out for any of Kanin’s favorite delicacy. In Kanin, a grown dragon with some control over his flame, the results of that fruit had been dangerous. In a young dragon, they could be disastrous.

  In his own room, Khollo stripped off his sweat-stained practice clothes and changed into a fresh shirt and pants. He pulled at the edges of the shirt to remove any wrinkles, then went to his own pantry and retrieved a simple meal of beef strips and flat bread. By the time he returned to the ledge, Sven and L’tel were already building a fire to warm their food over, talking quietly. The fire was not lit yet, just a collection of carefully placed sticks and branches.