by Jon Kiln
The captain replied without hesitation. “Two thousand, Your Excellence.”
“And how quickly could we have them called to arms and ready for action?”
“One week, Your Excellence,” replied the captain confidently.
“Thank you, captain. As always I am impressed by your command of our forces. You have always served me well.”
“Your Excellence, what is the threat that we are facing?”
“War is coming, Captain. I don’t know exactly when it will come, or where our greatest dangers lie, but I am certain that war is coming to the Berghein Valley.”
“Would you like me to mobilize our forces?” asked the captain, uncertainly.
The Duchess didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Call the men to arms. Every man that can wield a sword. The enemies that we will face will be stronger than us, they will be better trained than us, they will have more weapons than us. It is going to take all of our courage, all of our strength of will, to survive the storm that is bearing down on Castle Locke.”
“Yes, Your Excellence, I understand, I will see to it at once.” The captain bowed deeply before leaving the room.
The Duchess returned to the window of her study, looking out over her estate. She felt a strange sense of foreboding. She wondered if any of them would survive the wrath of the Kingdom of Palara, whether any of them would survive the wrath of Duke Harald—the pretender to the throne.
33
“These will be your quarters!” announced Clay, leading Myriam to a spacious room within the long, low wooden building which housed Clay and his household. “That is until you are married to Linz, and then we will set up something more comfortable, more suitable for my heir and his wife.”
“Please, sir!” begged Myriam. “Please don’t do this.”
“This is your home now,” replied Clay sternly. “There is nothing for you beyond this lake. My guards will be watching you, although should you try and escape, there is nowhere for you to go. You would not survive one night out here in this jungle.”
The chief of the Lake Men drew the curtain and left Myriam alone in her new quarters. The room was simply furnished but comfortable, a wooden floor covered by mats, a seating area with cushions, a sleeping area with furs and skins for warmth. Myriam could hear the gentle lapping of the waters of the lake beneath the wooden floor. To one side, there was a small waterwheel turning, a gentle stream of liquid passing through it, delivering fresh water to the room. Myriam admired its ingenuity before crossing the floor to the small window that looked out across the lake.
She sighed deeply, frustrated at lurching from one danger to the next, worrying about the fate of Ganry, Artas, Hendon, and Barnaby. She felt tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She brushed them away quickly, angry with herself for not being stronger, but the tears continued to fall as the fear and exhaustion began to take hold of her.
“Hello?” said a quiet, tentative voice, suddenly breaking through Myriam’s misery. It was Linz, the chief’s nephew, the boy she appeared to be destined to marry, the heir to the man who held her captive. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” began Linz, but seeing that Myriam had been crying, the boy seemed to have second thoughts and became embarrassed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll come back later.”
“No, it’s okay,” said Myriam, drying her eyes and forcing herself to look Linz in the eye. “You may enter.”
“Um, my uncle said that I should come and talk with you,” mumbled Linz.
“And what did your uncle tell you that you should talk to me about?” asked Myriam, almost amused by the boy’s lack of confidence and discomfort in her presence.
“He didn’t say,” replied Linz timidly.
Myriam crossed her arms. “Linz, I can’t marry you. I don’t belong here. I belong in my own kingdom, with my own people. You must understand that.”
“I didn’t realize that there was anything beyond the lake, beyond the forest.”
“There is a whole world beyond this forest!” exclaimed Myriam exasperatedly. “You don’t want to marry me anyway, I can see it in your eyes!”
“What do you mean?” asked Linz, looking concerned. “My uncle says that I must.”
“Why don’t you marry one of the girls from your own people, from the people of the lake?”
“My uncle says that it is forbidden. He says that the heir of the lake people must always take a wife from the foreign tribes.”
“Which means kidnapping someone and holding them against their will?” demanded Myriam angrily.
“I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it,” replied Linz shyly.
“Look at me, Linz,” said Myriam softly, reaching out and taking Linz’s hands in her own. “Look me in the eyes. In your heart, do you really want to marry me? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with me? Do you really want to have children with me?”
Linz gulped uncertainly, trying his best to hold her steady gaze. “No. No, I don’t. But I can’t disobey my uncle.”
“Listen, you will be heir to the lake people whether you marry me or not,” said Myriam, trying to think of a way to use Linz’s lack of interest in her to her advantage. “Your uncle’s plan to marry us is purely opportunistic. If I wasn’t here then it wouldn’t be an issue, so it is in both of our interests if you help me to escape.”
“I can’t do that!” hissed Linz nervously.
“I’m not asking you to kill anyone!” countered Myriam. “I just need you to help me find a way back to the fishing village where my friends are being held prisoner.”
“You would need a boat and someone to sail it,” said Linz, thinking through the logistics.
“You could sail it for me?” suggested Myriam.
“But even if you were to escape, where would you go?”
“We need to get to the Berghein Valley.”
Linz looked doubtful. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“North I think. We need to go North or Northwest.”
“Across the other side of the lake there is a channel that runs to the north, but it is forbidden to enter it.”
“Forbidden for you perhaps, but not for me!” smiled Myriam excitedly, as the possibility of escape began to take shape.
“We will have to travel at night to avoid detection by my uncle and his guards.”
“So we will go after sundown tonight?”
“But the water dragons come out at night, it would be too dangerous to try and reach the fishing village.”
“What exactly are these water dragons?”
“They are bigger than a man with skin covered in leathery scales. No spear or arrow can harm them and they have fierce ferocious teeth. They swim through the water and can also walk on land,” explained Linz.
“Would they attack the boat?”
“They have been known to, although it is not very common.”
“Then we shall just have to try and avoid them. We go tonight. Agreed?”
Linz nodded and they shook hands to seal their bargain. “Agreed.”
34
“Bring me my horse!” ordered Duke Harald, storming out towards the stables.
“Sir, would you like to go hunting?” His arms-bearer followed at his heels, trying to gauge his master’s mood.
“No, I would not like to go hunting!” spat Harald. “My best hunters are out trying to catch that elusive fool of a girl. If they can’t manage to snare her then they would be no use trying to hunt a fox! No. I will ride to consult the Druids. I will go alone.”
The Prince’s horse was called Thawban. It was a name that meant companion or friend. Harald was beginning to feel that his horse was the only thing that he could trust. Thawban was a beautiful horse, standing tall and proud, his shining dark black coat shimmering as it caught the light. The stable boys quickly saddled the beast and prepared him to be ridden. Thawban began to impatiently paw the ground as he sensed the presence of the Duke, the saddle and reins a clear indication that he was about to be let out fro
m the constraints of the stable, out into the fields that lay beyond Castle Villeroy.
“Are you sure you don’t want someone to accompany you, sir?” asked Zaim, the arms-bearer.
“I’m sure, this is something that I have to do alone. No harm will come to me. I will return before nightfall.”
Harald took hold of the reins of his horse, positioned his left foot in the stirrup, and pulled himself up into the saddle, swinging his right leg over and securing it into the other stirrup.
“Come, Thawban! Hah! Hah!” Harald urged his horse into a brisk gallop and his soldiers quickly opened the gates of the castle as he rode through and out onto the open road. It felt good to be away, even just for a moment, the wind clearing his head as Thawban cantered easily along the dirt road that would lead them to the Druids’ temple on the outskirts of the Cefinon Forest.
Harald reflected that his plan had seemed so simple, yet ever since the moment that he had imprisoned his brother, the King, and seized control of Castle Villeroy, he seemed to be blocked and frustrated at every turn. He had ordered the execution of Lord Holstein and his wife Elisabeth in desperation, seeking some way of advancing his claim on the throne, a claim that seemed to be impossible to fill while Myriam remained out of his reach.
After two hours of solid riding, Harald came within site of the Druids’ temple—a small stone building being reclaimed by the forest, with creepers and grasses growing from every nook and cranny in the stone.
One of the slaves of the Druids helped Harald to dismount and led his horse, Thawban, away to the stables to be fed and watered. Harald walked towards the large wooden door that was the entrance to the temple. The door opened slowly and an elderly man came out, dressed in a white robe. He wore a garland of mistletoe around his head and carried a staff made from oak.
“We have been expecting you, Duke Harald.”
“Your prophecies are false!” roared Harald. “I have followed everything that you have told me and yet still I am not king!”
“Then why do you return here if you do not seek our counsel?” asked the druid humbly, leading Harald through the small antechamber and into the larger hall concealed within the stone building.
The druid sat beside a small altar where a fire was burning. He poured some wine into an earthen goblet and gave it to Harald to drink.
“Did you bring a sacrifice in order for us to seek the guidance of the spirits?” inquired the druid.
Harald reached inside his cloak and pulled out a small flask, handing it to the druid. “It is the blood of Lord Holstein whom I sacrificed in the name of the spirits.”
“A fitting sacrifice,” said the druid solemnly, taking the stopper from the flask and pouring a small amount of blood into a silver bowl that was being heated over the coals of the fire. “All human souls are immortal. Death is only temporary. We pass from one form to another.”
The druid added some dried powders to the small silver bowl, swirling the blood gently as it heated. A strong odor began to fill the room and the druid closed his eyes.
“What do you see?” asked Harald eagerly.
“What questions do you seek answers to?” countered the druid.
“Will I be King?”
“There are many paths that could lead you to the crown. But these paths are not yet certain while the Princess Myriam remains the rightful heir.”
“Does Myriam live?”
The druid swayed back and forth. “Yes. She lives, but her life is in danger. She has not reached safety.”
“Where can I find her?” demanded the Duke.
“She is surrounded by water. Her heart looks to the west but her path is hidden from her.”
“Surrounded by water? What does that mean? She escaped from Athaca, we know that. There is no other water between Athaca and the Berghein Valley.”
“She is trapped in the hidden lake, deep in the Cefinon Forest beyond your reach,” said the druid.
“I will burn that forest to the ground if I have to!” snarled Harald. “Nothing is beyond my reach!”
The druid tipped the mixture of blood and powders into the burning flames of the fire, causing it to hiss and spark.
“What else do you see?” demanded Harald.
“You will bring death and destruction to us all,” the druid said calmly, standing up and walking away into the darkness of the temple.
Harald was left staring at the embers of the fire, struggling to control the fury that burned so fiercely inside him.
35
As daylight broke in the Cefinon forest, Zander stirred his four men. Param was in charge of preparing some breakfast for them all, which was a thick porridge paste made from mixing oats and water. He heated it over the small fire rekindled from the coals of the night before.
“I don’t know how many days I can take of this miserable breakfast.” Yasir forcibly spooned the porridge into his mouth.
“Stop complaining!” ordered Zander. “We’ve eaten worse. We’re on a mission. There will be time enough for good food when we have found Myriam and returned her safely to her grandmother.”
After finishing breakfast, they gathered their belongings and untethered their horses.
“We’re really working blind here, sir,” said Aban, who had returned from scouting out ahead. “We can keep following this path, but we’ve really got no idea where it will take us. As far as I can see it goes further into the forest, but for how long is anyone’s guess.”
Zander shook his head wearily. “This is madness, isn’t it?” His men realized it was a rhetorical question which did not require a response. Aban, Yasir, Najid, and Karam sat patiently on their horses, waiting for some sort of order or direction from their leader.
“I could help you,” said a voice from behind them. Zander and his men quickly turned in surprise, hands clutching at the hilt of swords in readiness for a surprise attack.
“Who are you!” demanded Zander gruffly, staring down at the small man wearing a simple brown cassock.
“Well, that’s not very polite is it!” replied the man. “I offer to help you and you start rattling your swords at me! Do you want my help or not?”
“Why would you help us?” asked Zander suspiciously.
“I’m just a good natured soul, I guess,” laughed the man. “Clearly, you don’t need my help though, so I’ll be on my way.” The man picked up his rucksack and turned back along the path towards the main road.
“Wait,” said Zander, realizing that there seemed to be no better options available. “We do need your help. Tell me your name, friend.”
The man turned back around. “I am Ghaffar. I live in this forest.”
“Are you a druid?”
“No,” laughed Ghaffar, “they don’t train men like me to become druids. I guess I’m something like a monk. Are you lost?”
“No, we’re not lost,” Zander said stiffly.
“Have you lost something, then?” probed Ghaffar.
“Perhaps.” Zander considered his words carefully, not wanting to reveal too much to a stranger. “Yes, we are trying to determine the best way for us to search the forest for what we have lost.”
Ghaffar cocked his head askance. “Do you search for the missing Princess Myriam?”
“What makes you say that?” asked Zander suspiciously. He was unsure what to make of this self proclaimed monk.
Ghaffar smiled broadly. “It seems that everyone searches for the Princess Myriam. From the soldiers of Duke Harald, to the waters of the River Walsall, to the trees of the forest, and yet she remains unfound.”
“What do you mean by that? Are you able to help us with our search or not?”
“Well, that depends on why you search for Myriam. We know what Duke Harald intends to do to her, but the question is whether she would be safer with you, or safer to remain concealed within the trees of the Cefinon Forest.”
“She will come to no harm with us. We are from the Berghein Valley, the land of her family. We will take her
there to safety.”
“There is no such thing as safety. Not here, not anywhere. Not anymore,” said Ghaffar mysteriously.
“Sir, this fool is talking around us in circles!” growled Aban impatiently. “I say let us cut off his monkish head and be on our way.”
“Calm yourself, Aban,” counseled Zander. “It is often the way of lonely monks to talk just for the sake of talking. Without him, we are back to square one.” Zander took a deep breath and attempted once more to make some sense of what the monk was telling him. “Ghaffar the monk, you say that Myriam is concealed within the trees of the Cefinon Forest? The Duchess D’Anjou has had visions that she is surrounded by water. Are these riddles saying the same thing?”
“Ah, clever Duchess. She has not lost her powers after all. Yes, Zander Moncrieff, everyone knows where Myriam is hidden but no one can speak its name.”
“How do you know who I am?!”
“There are no secrets from the trees of Cefinon Forest.”
“Can you take us to this place? This place where Myriam is hidden?”
“I can show you the way,” nodded Ghaffar, “but I am forbidden to cross the water.”
“Well, that at least is something. Let’s go.”
“Sir, are you sure?” cautioned Aban. “This feels like some sort of deception.”
“His timely assistance does seem too good to be true,” agreed Zander in a whisper. “But without some sort of guidance, we could be lost in this forest for the rest of time. Stay alert, stay on guard. We will need our wits about us.” Zander held out his arm to Ghaffar to help pull him up onto the back of his horse, Samphire. “Which way, good monk?”
“Follow the path. The trees will show us the way.”
36
“Here’s your food,” said the lake man, as one of the guards opened the door to the room where Ganry and the others were being held.
As he placed the bowls of food on the floor, there was a dull thud as Ganry brought both his fists down onto the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. The clatter of the falling man and spilt bowls quickly brought the guards running. As they stormed through the door, Ganry and Artas worked together to knock them over, using brute force to push them off their feet.