by David Welch
A dozen soldiers were strung across it, forming a line, blocking the entrance. They made no move to let him through; they just stood, scarlet surcoats covering chain-mail coats, spears in hand.
“Can I get through?” Gunnar asked.
“No,” replied the leader in Trade Tongue.
“I’m a guest of the king,” Gunnar explained.
“I am aware of that. The king has ordered that you not be allowed to return to the palace,” said the lead soldier.
“My possessions and family are in there,” Gunnar said. “I’m the one who killed the Reaper.”
“You are not allowed to enter,” the soldier reaffirmed.
“Will my things be brought out to me, then?” Gunnar asked.
“I have no knowledge of that,” the soldier said.
Gunnar’s hand subconsciously slipped towards his sword. The soldiers tightened their grips on their spears.
“This how you king treats all his guests?” Gunnar asked.
The soldier said nothing. Gunnar turned, knowing he couldn’t fight a dozen men on his own. He’d have to find another way in. And he was getting in. If he had to kill every person in this damn city, he was getting to Kamith and getting her and Turee out of that place.
“You are advised to leave the city,” the lead soldier shouted as Gunnar strode away.
“I don’t see that happening,” Gunnar said coldly.
***
She was practicing with her wooden sword, in her room, when the knock came. Turee tossed the weapon onto the bed and padded over to the door.
She expected to see Gunnar, or Kamith, or even Khireg. Instead, she stared up at the face of Whenoc, King of Skar’gat.
“Uh, Your Majesty,” she fumbled, stepping back and bowing. “What can I do for you?”
He stepped into her room, a pair of soldiers standing at the door. His eyes gazed up and down her body, as if examining a new toy. She had on the sleeveless leather dress Kamith had given her shortly after they first met. She crossed her arms self-consciously, intimidated by his glaze.
“You are to be my wife,” he said simply.
It didn’t quite register.
“What?” she asked.
“You are Turee, daughter of Cahdar III. You will be married to me tonight and serve as my queen,” he declared.
“No, I won’t,” she said, shocked by the audacity of his words.
“Then I will hold you here until such time as I can sell you back to your brother,” Whenoc said with a shrug. “I would prefer having you as a wife, so that I would have a legitimate claim on the throne of Starth, but if you refuse, I can always hand you over and have the new king owe me a favor.”
“You’re insane,” she said. “I’m not the daughter of—”
“Don’t,” the king said with an unpraised palm. “I’ve seen your likeness. You are a princess of Starth.”
“I… No! My mother was a chambermaid. The people never accepted her as Queen! They don’t consider me a princess; they wouldn’t accept your claim!” she squeaked frantically, backing up towards her bed.
“Irrelevant,” the king said. “Accepted or not, you were officially considered a princess. That is enough for my purposes.”
“I won’t do it!” she screamed, grabbing the wooden blade.
The king cracked a smile as she waved the dull, wooden sword around.
“You will,” he said. “For the sake of your dark-skinned friend, Kamith, you will. I’m not sure what will come of her. She’s beautiful, so I could add her to my seraglio, but somehow I doubt she’s fit for harem life. Might have to sell her to one of the brothels in the city. The overseers there know how to break a woman’s pride, make her more… compliant.”
Turee swallowed nervously, her grip on the wooden sword weakening.
“Or I could just torture her, or give her to my soldiers. They’re tough on slaves, so it’s anybody’s guess how long she’d survive in their barracks.”
“No,” Turee whispered, tears tracing paths down her cheeks. “You can’t do this.”
“I am King,” Whenoc said with a smile. “I have absolute power over anyone and anything in Skar’gat. So make your choice, girl. Marry me, and you can keep your friend as one of your ladies-in-waiting. Do it not, and she’ll spend what remains of her life as a vessel for men’s seed, and you probably will too, given what I hear of your brother’s unique tastes.”
“I-I can’t…” she started, unable to form the words.
She wanted to cry for Gunnar, but he was in town. If she yelled for Kamith, her friend might kill a few of the guards, but the palace was full of soldiers. They would cut her down, and Whenoc would just end up with what he wanted anyway.
“Don’t hurt her,” Turee whispered, letting the wooden sword drop to the ground. “Please.”
Whenoc smiled.
“Good. A brother of the earth will be by tonight to marry us. And from what my slave says, you are quite an active lover. You will be so with me as well, or Kamith will face her fate.”
“And you won’t sell me to my brother?” Turee whimpered.
“Not if you satisfy,” Whenoc said, then he turned to the guards. “Take any woman’s powder you find. My kingdom is in need of a true heir.”
He leaned down and placed a possessive hand on her stomach, doubtlessly imagining the children that would come from that womb and the nights he’d spend making them. Turee shuddered, and the guards moved dutifully into the room. Whenoc smiled, hungry with anticipation, and walked out. Turee collapsed to the bed, weeping into the mattress as they rifled through her bags.
She’d cried for some time when she heard another knock. She felt a flush of fear. Had he been unable to wait a few hours? Did he want her now?
Opening the door, she found the two soldiers standing guard and Khireg. The young man had an angry look on his face. Both guards pretended to look away, but she knew they would hear everything.
“Come in,” she said weakly.
He stepped into the room, and they walked towards the bed.
“You are to marry my uncle?” he said in Trade Tongue, choosing his words carefully.
“Yes,” she said. “I am.”
Anger and jealousy twisted the young man’s face into a mask of fury. He fought it off, forcing his features back to an emotionless blank.
“It is a good match,” he said.
“It is acceptable,” she said, then she leaned close to him.
“Listen closely to what I say and repeat the exact words to Kamith,” she whispered, barely audible.
“It will be good to have you around the palace. You fit in well here,” he said to allay the guards.
“Thank you,” she said, then she whispered a handful of words in Langal. She had no idea whether she pronounced them right or had even strung them together correctly, but it didn’t matter. They would get the point across. Khireg heard the words and nodded. He took her hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly.
“I look forward to you being our queen,” Khireg announced. “It has been some time since a woman has graced the throne.”
“I-I will do my best,” she managed.
Khireg stood up, bowed crisply, and headed out of the room.
“See my uncle still likes ’em young,” he said to the guards as he left. The two men laughed and shut the door after him. Turee sat alone on the bed, staring off into space, feeling nothing but terror.
***
“You’re looking for a way to get into the palace.” Gunnar’s hand flew to his sword. “Don’t do that. You’ll draw attention,” the voice warned.
He turned towards the speaker. A tall man leaned against the corner of a building, a hooded cloak shrouding his face. Gunnar walked up to the man, his hand still closed on the wire-wrapped grip of his blade.
“You’re the Red Prince,” said Gunnar, seeing the man’s face under the hood.
“And you’re Gunnar the Reaper Slayer,” the man said in a light voice.
�
�‘Reaper Slayer’?” Gunnar asked.
“They’re writing songs about it in the outer towns,” said Elhouan.
“Great,” Gunnar sighed. “So I suppose you know a way into the palace?”
“I do. And I think we can help each other,” Elhouan said. “Follow me.”
The man started down the road, then noticed Gunnar wasn’t following.
“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already,” Elhouan informed him. “I have plenty of followers.”
Gunnar reluctantly followed, keeping a few paces between them. Elhouan headed for the eastern edge of the town. There, he disappeared into a stable. Gunnar followed cautiously, half expecting men to jump out with swords drawn. Instead, he saw Elhouan standing in an empty stall.
“Okay, now what?” Gunnar asked.
Elhouan kicked aside the straw under his feet, revealing a wooden door in the floor of the stable. A stableboy drifted near, spotted Elhouan, and chatted with him in the Skar’gat language.
“He’s one of my people,” Elhouan explained. “He will cover this back up once we’re in.”
Gunnar followed Elhouan down a steep staircase and into a tunnel dug from the earth and braced with wooden planks. They followed this for a hundred yards. It ended in a wall of rock, solid except for a four-foot-wide gap running through the middle of the stone.
“Ever been in a cave?” Elhouan asked.
“I try not to,” replied Gunnar.
They squeezed their way through the crack and into a long gallery deep beneath the earth. Protrusions of stone, shaped and colored like some confectioner’s treat, rose from the floor and plunged from the ceiling. A slow and shallow stream traced down the center of the long cavern.
“And nobody knows about this place?” Gunnar asked, taking it in. A dozen lanterns hung from stakes driven into cracks in the cave wall, casting a hellish red light around the cavern.
“The main cavern to the southeast is quite famous. The Brothers of the Earth worship there. This side cavern, not so much. My brother and I rediscovered it when we were kids, used to play down here. Figure some old king hollowed it out to hide stuff, then it was forgotten.”
“Your brother?” Gunnar asked.
“Prince Khireg,” Elhouan replied, sourness creeping into his voice. “Half-brother, according to my mother. She never wanted to let me forget that I was a royal and he was a bastard.”
“You didn’t see it that way?” Gunnar asked.
“Man puts his shaft in one sheath, and it’s a prince. Put it in another, and it’s a bastard!” Elhouan scoffed. “Always seemed to me that what a person does should tell you how noble they are.”
Gunnar felt a begrudging respect for the man. He still didn’t trust him, but he did let his hand drift from the hilt of his sword.
They continued down the cavern, nearly two hundred yards through flickering shadows. The cavern descended steeply, the rock crumbly and slippery from the water. The ceiling of the cavern closed in as they descended, barely tall enough for a man to walk though. Then it opened up again into a large, round chamber. Torches illuminated the space, but here light wasn’t powerful enough to reach the ceiling. The cave rose into blackness, far above them.
Around them sat men, lounging on furs and wooden chairs. At least one hundred people sat about, many of them sharpening blades and strapping on armor. Gunnar only recognized one of them; the old slave who had brought the male slaves to the bath for Turee. Even he was pulling on a leather surcoat. Crates filled every available space, half of them open. Swords, shields, bows, and arrows spilled from them. Others carried coats of mail, vambraces, greaves, and helmets. Many more held jerky and hardtack.
“Well, it’s a better hideout than the stable,” Gunnar said, impressed.
“Sure is,” Elhouan agreed, walking to a seat. He settled down and motioned Gunnar to a chair a few feet away. One of the men, armed and armored, brought over a wooden cup filled with water. Gunnar sipped cautiously. It tasted strongly of minerals but was drinkable.
“So, here’s how it is. I am the rightful king of Skar’gat,” said Elhouan.
“Well, good for you,” Gunnar replied.
“Whenoc stole the throne when my father died. I was a teenager and couldn’t stop him. So I fled,” Elhouan continued.
“And I imagine you want the throne back?” Gunnar asked.
“Yes,” Elhouan said. “And you’re the key to that.”
“Me?” Gunnar asked incredulously. “Look, a month ago, I’d never been in Skar’gat, much less—”
“What Whenoc did to you is what will help us,” Elhouan interrupted.
“Locking me out of the palace? It’s bad, and I want to beat the man senseless, I do, but it’s not the stuff that starts revolutions.”
The old slave said something to Elhouan.
“No, he doesn’t know,” the Red Prince said, then he stared sternly at Gunnar. “Whenoc is forcing Turee to marry him so he can have a claim on Starth. From what Khireg and my informants tell me, he threatened to sell your woman to a brothel if the girl didn’t comply.”
Gunnar was on his feet instantly, fire in his eyes.
“Now I’m going to kill him,” he seethed.
“Calm down, you’ll get your chance,” Elhouan said, motioning for him to sit back down. “The king invited you in, extended his hospitality to you, then betrayed you and kidnapped your women. Even amongst his own subjects, that sort of thing won’t stand.”
“And it gives you a perfect excuse to make your move,” Gunnar said, his old warrior instincts reasserting control, holding back his anger.
“It’s the spark I need. Maybe half the population supports me. The other half has no love of Whenoc, but they don’t want civil war, so they try to ignore it all. Something like this will shake enough of them out of their complacency,” Elhouan reasoned. “Whenoc is careful. Another chance like this might not come along for a while.”
“Careful? Kidnapping a guest’s wife and friend is ‘careful’?”
“I know my uncle; he probably reasoned that the benefits of having a claim on Starth, and thus leverage on King Ythell, outweighed the risks of angering a foreign drifter,” Elhouan reasoned.
“You just said people are writing songs about me,” Gunnar countered.
“Yes. But in a few years, you’ll be just another mythical figure. If we strike now, and tell the people that Whenoc not only betrayed a guest, but the man who killed the Reaper himself, then we’ll have the good will to secure the throne,” Elhouan explained.
“Secure the throne…” Gunnar said. He spat on the ground. “I don’t care about your kingship or this damn country. I care about the women I love. You want to use me as your excuse, fine. Go ahead. But when this is over, I want nothing to do with this damn place.”
Several of the soldiers in the room stiffened, unused to people talking that way around their prince, but Elhouan remained calm, nodding his respect towards an equal, something he rarely had the chance to do.
“If we succeed, you and your people will be free to do as you wish. My brother is quite taken with Turee, so you will always be welcome in my house. But, if you wish to go, I will not interfere.”
The two men locked stares for long seconds, each measuring the other.
“Fine. How do we get in?” Gunnar finally asked.
“With logs,” said Elhouan.
He got up, moving to two logs lying along the far wall of the cavern. Both were about eight feet long. One was a bare log, unadorned. The other had metal rods extending outwards, so that a group of people could carry and swing it.
“Neither one of those will batter down the gate,” Gunnar said. “You’d be shot down before you even made a crack.”
“Yes,” Elhouan said, pointing at the bare log. “That one goes on a cart I have in the village. Two dozen men will wheel it up to the main gate, declare their intention, and fire arrows at the guards. They are a distraction.”
“You want all the guards
near the main gate,” Gunnar figured.
“Yes,” said Elhouan. “On the north side of the palace, outside of the city, there was once a sally port, so if there was a siege, defenders could run out at night and raid the enemy.”
“I know what a sally port is,” Gunnar remarked.
“My father thought it a weakness, so he had it blocked off,” said Elhouan. “But, cheap bastard that he was, he didn’t use stone. He used plaster and painted it to resemble stone.”
“So the log with the handles breaks down the plaster while all the guards are at the front gate dealing with the ‘distraction’,” said Gunnar.
“Then we go in,” said Elhouan. “I send twenty men to seize the gate. Whenoc maintains a professional force of eight hundred experienced soldiers, to form the core of any army he might need to raise. They stay in a barracks a half-mile to the south of the city, not in the palace. We seize the gate and shut it, so no reinforcements can come to save Whenoc. Since the palace is built into the wall itself, we just run down the wall, into the palace, and kill everything that gets in our way.”
“The wall may run into the palace, but there are doors between the wall and the palace building. They could close them off and leave us stranded on the wall,” Gunnar pointed out.
“They could, but I doubt they will. Not with the front gates closed; they won’t think they’re in much danger. And if they do get shut out, we carry the log up and smash the doors down. Takes a bit longer, but the end result is the same,” Elhouan explained.
Gunnar paused to think. It wasn’t the worse plan he could think of. Sure, a hundred things could go wrong and send things spiraling all to hell, but what other option did he have? Finding a rope and a hook and pulling himself up the wall? Rushing into a palace with dozens of soldiers and hoping he could hack his way alone through overwhelming numbers, rescue Kamith and Turee, and then find a way out?
Crazy as this was, it was his best hope of getting them back.
“Alright,” Gunnar agreed. “But I’ll need a shield.”
***