The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion

by Larry Robbins

  When her human went away, she felt the separation as strongly as did the human woman with whom Taggart had bonded. For a full season Tinker had remained with Dwan, each of them sharing their grief with the other. After her body healed, Tinker continued to feel the emptiness, but she also felt the pull of nature back to others of her kind. She waited one night until the woman had fallen asleep. She then projected her intentions and reasons for her leaving. When Dwan awakened the next day she would recognize the projections as a memory or simply a realization.

  Tinker had no trouble jumping onto the sill of the open window and scrambling down the rough exterior of the outside wall. A tenday’s time later she was back among her littermates and mother.

  Her nap was soothing and enormously refreshing. Her body had been badly damaged in her fight with a Silver and she sorely needed to convalesce. The taxing journey home had undone some of her healing, and she had required much rest. Her littermates had surrounded her every morning seeking her attention until her mother had sent them scampering off.

  It was not unusual for the pale versions of their species to give birth to others like them. When it did occur, it happened only once in the mother’s lifetime. Aleen was the name that Tinker’s mother had earned when she had been tasked by the Awareness early in life. She had connected with a human female many summers past and had performed her duties successfully. It was a tragic necessity that her human had to die when the assignment ended, but it too, was predicted and forewarned. Tinker had never been told the details of Aleen’s task, and she had never asked. The waves of pain and grieving that emanated from her mother whenever the subject was raised was enough to dissuade further inquiry.

  Even though her body had long since healed, Tinker had grown accustomed to the naps she started taking when she first returned. She was in the midst of one now when the mindscent found her.

  In an action that was so quick that one watching her would not have been able to see it, Tinker moved from being prone on her back to standing tense and erect on her feet. She tested the air for actual smells then closed her eyes and searched for the mindscent again. She detected the faintest hint, like a pale difference in the colors of a sunset. She realized she had allowed herself to get too excited by the incoming link to make full use of her gifts and skills. She took control of her breathing first, slowing it down and making it deeper. Then, when she began to feel the effects of that effort, she relaxed her muscle groups one after the other until she was able to lower herself back to the nest in the rocks. Lying now on her stomach she closed her eyes and opened her mind. Employing even more concentration, the noises she was hearing around herself slowly faded. The bite of the chilly wind drifted away. Her breathing slowed more. She felt her abilities expand.

  She saw a young human female through another’s eyes. She was connected to the entity through whose eyes the images flowed. Tinker’s heart quickened at the realization, and she had to fight hard to bring it back to the more relaxed state. The image had faded when she allowed the reaction. She chided herself, she was better trained than that. She did not allow herself to worry, that would be counterproductive. She filled herself with confidence and calm.

  The images returned. The pictures she saw were of the young woman again. She was marching in front of the eyes from which Tinker was watching. The girl had two knives and was executing thrusting and slashing actions with the weapons. Her movements were fast, faster than any human she’d ever observed.

  The youth was turning her head now, looking back at Tinker’s perspective, her mouth moving, but no sound issuing forth. That was common with these types of projections. The girl was pretty, almost beautiful by human standards. Her bare arms were toned and wiry. Her legs, though short, were uncommonly muscled. Her naturally light brown skin was tinted darker by exposure to the sun. She had turned now walking backwards and was continuing to practice with the knives even as she spoke.

  The images were interesting, but Tinker was consumed with curiosity about the source. As she grew excited the images blurred. She caught herself again and put herself back under control.

  The moving picture of the youth was now knee-deep in a brook or small river. Her mouth was dripping water, and she was continuing to talk as she splashed water upon herself. The vision moved as if the eyes observing the woman were moving. It approached the water and lowered itself. Tinker’s breath stilled. The eyes that were observing the scene lowered themselves. She saw two hands cupped in the stream and raising, filled with water. The face of the water was swirling, disturbed by the intrusion of the hands. They dipped two three, four times. Then they stopped. The eyes continued to watch the water as the eddies swirled and diminished, and the surface of the water became still. The pinkish sky was visible above. Then the water calmed even more and became as still as a midnight moon. A face looked down upon its reflection. The face was that of a man. The hair on his head and face was the color of gold. The eyes, through which Tinker was observing, were a striking blue.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Maluss had arrived a few short moments ago. He still smelled of charon sweat and was covered with the dust of the road. His riding cloak was filthy and still damp from the short rain through which he’d ridden. He had arrived at the entry to Archer’s Gate late in the evening. He’d presented himself to the Captain of the Watch and showed him the pewter medallion which justified the waking of the king. Maluss was an official envoy from the court of King Tyner. He had been offered food and drink while the king and other dignitaries were summoned and gathered in a hall on the ground floor.

  On the prior morning, well before sunrise, Maluss had quietly exited the stronghold of Aspell by being lowered from the walls on a rope. He’d elected to go out on the sea side of the castle since he figured that would be the side least likely to be watched. He had successfully picked his way through the treacherous cliffs on that side and had arrived several leagues away from the city. He had then jogged up from the beach area onto a flat piece of land that led into a dense forest. After proceeding into the forest until the sun was rising he found a small farm. He pounded on the door until the occupants arose and told them of the situation in the harbor. He was given one of the excellent charon in the corral and sped off on his mission.

  As he rode hard, his mind went to his close friend, Wyn, who should be heading in the opposite direction. Wyn and Matuss were lifelong friends, and both taught the art of riding the charon to warriors in service to Aspell. They had purposely chosen different points of exit from the castle stronghold in order to minimize the chances of both being caught. Matuss was to make contact with Archer’s Gate while Wyn was to do the same in Northland.

  Now he was ushered into the room full of Archer’s Gate dignitaries. He stood at attention even though he was entirely spent after a day of riding, having changed charon twice at different settlements along the way. King Pryus had come in shortly after Matuss and saw the dirty and exhausted messenger trying mightily to maintain a military posture.

  “By the Stars, man, sit!” he commanded. The king gave a brief look over his shoulder at the gathered members of Parliament who should have insisted that the young man not be bound by ceremony. He ordered more water and a flask of sween be made available. The man gulped more water and sipped at the sween. Finally, refreshed by the drink, he tried to stand again. “Stay sat, Warrior, that is an order,” Pryus commanded. “Now tell us why King Tyner has sent us the pewter medallion. I’m certain you are aware that such a signal is only to be used in the gravest of conditions.”

  Matuss delivered his message word by word exactly as he had memorized it. The eyes of the king widened as the story was revealed. When he was finished, King Pryon signaled to two attending warriors. “Take this man to one of my chambers and get him a bed. Don’t let anyone waken him unless it is by my order.” He turned back to the messenger. “We are in your debt, Good Warrior, we will speak again when you are rested.”

  ***

  Wyn slithered down an
other rope on the north side of the castle walls. Landing silently, he watched the rope being pulled quietly upward. He listened for a long time before moving and heard only the sounds of the sea. Still wrapped in darkness, he carefully approached the pirate campsites. He watched for signs of movement but saw none. There were numerous fire pits. All of them burned low and were giving off very little light. Steeling himself, he drew a deep breath and stepped forward, trying to appear as if he were a part of the pirate throng. He’d changed from his uniform into a mixture of clothing that closely resembled that worn by the enemy. He had on tough canvas trousers and a sleeveless shirt bound together by a loose sash at his waist. He carried a dagger and a shortsword at the waist. Wyn was a short man, even by the standards of his people, but he was uncommonly strong. It took real strength to deal with the mighty charon and show them who was boss. In all of his twenty four summers Wyn had only been thrown twice.

  He stepped casually through the campsites, nodding wordlessly at the few sentries. He looked relaxed on the outside which was considerably different than he was feeling on the inside. His life was on the line here, but such were the requirements of duty.

  He was almost entirely free of the more densely packed areas when he saw a man standing in the shadows that lead back into wooded section near the beach. The man had his sword in one hand and a jug in the other. Since he could not avoid the sentry without raising concern, he stepped up in front of him.

  “Pretty quiet so far, eh?” he asked the other in whispered tones.

  The sentry was older than Wyn by ten summers at least. His hair was going white, and he had a fat, bulbous nose, probably the result of overindulgence of the spirits. He ignored Wyn’s question, and closed one eye so that he could examine Wyn with the better one.

  “Aye, quiet,” he said finally. “Where would you be off to?”

  Wyn faked a yawn and scratched a non-existent itch. “Have to throw water,” he answered.

  The sentry was unable to stop the answering yawn that Wyn’s had caused. When he was done he stepped forward to get so close that Wyn could smell the man’s sour breath. When he opened his mouth to speak again, Wyn saw several missing teeth. “Throw water? You mean take a piss?”

  Wyn realized he’d made a mistake. He should have realized that such men would use crude language. There was nothing to do for it now. The now-suspicious sentry, being bigger and heavier, got within grabbing distance because he thought those attributes would assist him if the encounter devolved into a struggle. He was incorrect. The bulk that was generated by many summers of too much food and spirit exacerbated by too little exercise was no match for the wiry muscularity borne of constant effort and a warrior’s diet.

  The sentry was barely able to manage a small squeaking sound as Wyn knocked the sword from his hand and swept around his back to put him in a choking hold with his neck held vice-like in the bend of his arm. The man squirmed and struggled and tried to reach the dagger thrust into his waist sash, but Wyn had that weapon trapped by the pressure of his own hip against the pirate’s. After a moment, the sentry stopped struggling and slumped down. Wyn wasn’t buying it, and the pirate started struggling again, though this time with more desperation. Wyn held on and squeezed even harder, reminding himself that this man was here to kill his people. Eventually, the struggles waned and stopped again. Wyn finally felt safe enough to release him. He fell limp and did not move. The young warrior knelt low over his face and listened until he had satisfied himself that the pirate sentry was not breathing. He took the remaining skin of strong spirits and poured it into the man’s slackly open mouth, splashing a bit on his clothing. He hoped it would be assumed that the man had drunk too much and then expired from a heart malady. It was a thin hope, but it really made little difference what his fellow pirates would think. Wyn experienced no further problems during his escape from Aspell. The morning sun found him also on the back of a donated charon, thundering toward Northland.

  ***

  The moment Maluss was escorted to one of the king’s many bedrooms to get some much-needed rest King Pryus gave instructions to his King’s Sword to set into motion a plan that the four kingdoms had long ago devised. A total of ten riders clattered across the lowered bridges of Archer’s gate.

  The first three messengers headed off to the north. On the chance that Wyn had been intercepted, these warriors were tasked with making certain that news of the invasion was delivered to Northland. The heralds were assigned different stopping points along the way.

  Each kingdom had established numerous outposts along various routes to the different kingdoms. These garrisons were supplied with fresh charon and expert riders. The three couriers were sent along different routes in order to improve the chances that at least one would get through to their intended destination. Upon arrival at an outpost a rider would handoff a messenger bag to a fresh rider and charon who would then set off on his or her way to the next post and so on until the news was delivered.

  The same arrangement involving more riders, more charon and longer rest periods were staged along the longer routes to Olvion. This arrangement served to open up a means of fast communication between the kingdoms

  The first rider from Archer’s Gate was just arriving in Olvion when Taggart and Toria were having their first glimpse of the city.

  ***

  Taggart stood on the top of the bluffs that led down to the enormous City-Kingdom of Olvion. In the distance loomed his adopted home and the place where he hoped to find his Dwan. The city always tended to inspire awe in him. It was enormous in size with the entire city encircled by a high, three leveled wall. It took thousands of warriors to adequately patrol the walls each day. The city twinkled with light from hundreds of thousands of glow bulbs affixed to strings along the main city streets and peeking out from behind shutters and windows.

  Toria was also transfixed by the sight.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she cooed. “I’ve never seen it at night from a distance. We arrived here by day and left by day.”

  Taggart nodded. “Yes it is Lady Toria.” He had discovered that the use of the title delighted her even though they both well knew she did not hold a position which merited the title.

  Geraar and Isahn brought their horses up from behind them. The quartet had been furnished charon for this last part of their trip. The two active military warriors were scheduled to return with the four animals anyway and had previously planned on riding one while leading the other. The addition of the other two travelers heading the same way was a happy coincidence, which made the trip easier for all concerned. The largest of the charon had, of course, been given to Taggart, and the proud animal had done a phenomenal job of transporting the huge ex-warrior despite his weight.

  Taggart remembered the first time he’d sat on these bluffs on the back of a charon. More than six months had passed, earth time, and it was the first he’d seen of the huge encircling walls and the castle stronghold that was built into the eastern face of the wall. The castle rose up to a pinnacle marked by a tower with a large section of glass observation windows. The location of the city and the defensive stronghold was decided upon centuries earlier. The people who’d made that decision placed it directly in the middle of two mountain ranges; the Kneeling Warrior range in the south and the Hounds Teeth in the north. The flat stretch of land beyond was named the “Lion’s Road”, and it continued on behind the city until it touched the Western Sea. With the topography surrounding the city kingdom, any invading force of Greys that wished to attack the human kingdoms on the coast had to first fight their way through Olvion.

  Some enemy might be successful in simply trying to bypass the stronghold on either side, but that would leave their rear flank open to attack. No military commander worth his sween would attempt such an action. That was why Olvion was offered military support in the form of weapons, food and, most importantly, warriors. If the mighty city kingdom of Olvion fell, then the remaining smaller kingdoms of Aspell, Archer’s Gate
and Northland would certainly fall.

  Unfortunately, the centuries of a semi-peace lulled the Coastal Kingdoms into slowly, over the years, withdrawing their warriors in an effort to increase their treasuries. When the inevitable invasion came, the proud kingdom of Olvion stood up with only a few thousand supporting warriors. Then, their call for reinforcements from the other kingdoms had gone unheeded by the politicians there until it had almost been too late. As Tag sat there now looking down at his adopted home, he wondered how many thousands of Olvionis died unnecessarily because of the dithering of the Coastal Kingdoms.

  “Did you hear me Tag?”

  Taggart was pulled from his musings by the sound of Toria’s voice. “I apologize Lady Toria, what did you ask?”

  The girl was repeatedly bouncing up and down in her stirrups as her poor charon tried to figure out what signals he was being given. “I said why are we sitting here? I want to see my cousin.”

  Taggart smiled for the hundredth time at the energy of the young woman. He nodded his head in the direction of the city and gave a light kick to the sides of his charon. They were almost home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tinker walked slowly back to her nest. The wind died as she descended to the place where the tribe’s village was located. The temperature grew a trifle warmer also. As she walked, she enjoyed the view of the valleys below her. She had always been pleased at the incredible varieties of color in her world. The sun was still high in the pinkish sky and the brisk air was uplifting to her spirit.