by Terry Brooks
The dismissive gesture came again. “That remains to be seen. I don’t expect you to take my word for what I tell you, in any case. Not you, Holiday. You are the sort of man who demands proof even when the truth is staring him in the face. Very well, then.”
He whistled, and a pair of horses appeared from out of the blanket of low-lying fog. Ben felt his heart sink as they came closer. One was Lightfoot, and the other Owl. There was no mistaking their markings. They came past Rydall and started across the bridge.
“Send someone down and have them bring you what they find tied to the pony’s saddle,” Rydall called up once more.
Ben looked over at Bunion. The kobold raced away instantly, a dark blur against the castle stone. Unable to speak, burning with anger, Ben stood with Willow pressed close against him. A moment later Bunion was back. There was no expression on his strange, wizened face. He handed Ben a necklace and a scarf. Ben studied them closely and, sick at heart, handed them to Willow. They belonged to Mistaya. She had been wearing them when she had left for the lake country.
“Oh, Ben,” Willow whispered softly.
“Where are Questor Thews and Abernathy?” Ben shouted down to Rydall. “Where are the men of their escort?”
“Safely tucked away,” Rydall answered. “Are you ready to hear my demands now, High Lord of Landover?”
Ben choked back the emotions that threatened to steal away his good sense. He put his arm around Willow as much to steady himself as to steady her. He was still not willing to accept what he was being told. It was not conceivable that Rydall could have taken Mistaya so easily. How had he managed it? How could he have overcome her escort? Questor Thews and Abernathy would have died before giving her up.
“Rydall!” he called down suddenly, shocking himself with the strength he found in his voice. “I will not surrender Landover’s throne or her people for any reason. I will not be blackmailed. You seem comfortable with preying on small children, and that makes me doubt your claims of conquest with armies numbering in the thousands. I think you are a coward.”
Rydall laughed. “Brave words for a man in your position. But I do not begrudge them. Nor, in fact, do I expect you to hand over the throne now any more than I did before. I took your daughter not to blackmail you into accepting my demands but to persuade you to hear me out. You would not do so before. You must now. Listen well, then. You can ill afford not to, I think.”
Rydall pointed to the gauntlet. “The challenge I offer is not the one you have anticipated. As I said, I do not expect you to hand over your throne. I made the demand because, of course, I must. A King must always try what is easiest first. It is in the nature of conquest. Sometimes an opponent will accede. I did not think you would be one who would, but it was necessary to find out. Now we are past that, past game playing, past negotiation, and are face to face with reality. I have your daughter and your friends. You have my kingdom. One of us must give something up. Which of us is it to be?”
Rydall brought his horse forward onto the edge of the causeway. “I think it must be you, King of Landover, but I am willing to settle the matter in an honorable way. A challenge, then, as I have said. The challenge is this. I will send seven champions to face you. Each will come at a time of my choosing. Each will be of a different form. All will come to kill you. If you prevent them from doing so, if you are able to kill them first, all seven of them, then I will free your daughter and friends and abandon my claim to Landover. But if any of them succeeds, then your kingdom will be forfeit and your family will be sent into exile for all time. Do you accept? If you do, walk out upon the causeway and pick up my gauntlet.”
Ben stared down at the other in disbelief. “He’s crazy,” he whispered to Willow, who nodded wordlessly.
“You have a champion of your own to defend you,” Rydall continued. “Everyone knows of the Paladin, the King’s knight-errant and protector. You shall have some form of defense against the creatures I send.” Creatures now, Ben thought. Not champions. “I understand that no one has ever defeated the Paladin. That means you have a more than reasonable chance of winning, doesn’t it? Do you accept?”
Still Ben did not respond, his mind racing as he considered the proposal. It was ridiculous, but it was the only chance he had to get Mistaya back. It gave him time to find out where she was and perhaps rescue her. And Questor Thews, Abernathy, and his soldiers. But the bargain itself was insane! His life measured against Rydall’s seven killers? If he accepted this challenge, if he went down on the causeway and picked up that gauntlet, he would be bound as surely as by his most sacred oath. There were witnesses to this—members of his castle staff, King’s Guards and retainers—and Landover’s laws would not allow him to forsake his word once it was given. He might kill Rydall and be relieved of it, but the options offered were extreme and narrowly drawn.
“If you do not accept,” Rydall shouted out suddenly, “I shall have your daughter and your friends tied to horses and set before my armies as we sweep into your kingdom. They shall die first, before any of my men. I would regret this, but it would be necessary if I were to ask my men to give up their lives as the price of your stubbornness. I told you once before, I prefer to gain your kingdom without bloodshed. You might prefer the same—if for different reasons. My challenge gives you that chance. Do you accept?”
Ben was thinking now that if he did, he must also accept the fact that he would be required to become the Paladin in order to stay alive—not once or twice but seven times. It was his worst fear. He struggled constantly with what giving himself over to his alter ego meant. Each time it became increasingly more difficult to keep from losing his own identity. Becoming the Paladin meant complete submersion into the other’s being. Each time it was a little harder coming back out of the armored shell, out of the memories, out of the life that was his champion’s. If he accepted Rydall’s challenge, he would be facing the prospect not only of being killed in combat but of being transformed forever into his darker half.
“High Lord, do you accept?” Rydall demanded again.
“No, do not!” Willow exclaimed suddenly, seizing his arm. “There is more to this than what you are being told! There is something hidden behind Rydall’s words! I can sense it, Ben!” She moved in front of him. There were tears in her eyes. Her voice was so quiet, he could barely hear her speak. “Even if we must lose Mistaya, do not accept.”
What it must have cost her to say this, Ben could not begin to guess. She was fiercely protective of Mistaya. She would do anything to keep her safe. But she was giving him a chance to save himself anyway. She loved him that much.
He folded her into his arms and held her close. “I have to try,” he told her softly. “If I don’t, how will I live with myself afterward?”
He kissed her, then turned away. Beckoning Bunion to follow, he crossed the parapets to the stairway leading down. “Wait for me here,” he called back to Willow.
He went down the stairway thinking of what he must do once he picked up the gauntlet. His options were few. He must find Mistaya, Questor, Abernathy, and his Guards and set them free. That was first. Then he must persuade Rydall to withdraw his challenge and his threat to Landover. Or, if he was unable to do that, kill him. The alternative was to face Rydall’s seven challengers and hope that he killed them before they killed him. Or was he required to kill them? Perhaps he could simply defeat them. But Rydall had not made it seem as if that were an option. “Creatures” Rydall had called them the second time. Ben found himself wondering what sort of creatures they would be.
He crossed the courtyard to the main gates, Bunion a step behind, the kobold’s teeth clenched in a frightening grimace. It was clear what he was thinking. “Let them be, Bunion,” Ben cautioned softly. “We need Mistaya and the others back first.”
The kobold grunted something in response, and Ben hoped it was the answer he was seeking.
He walked through the main gates and out onto the causeway. The day was brightening, the sky clear and
blue, the last of the fog dissipating on the meadow fronting the castle’s lake. Rydall and his silent companion sat atop their horses and waited. Ben moved out onto the causeway, alert for any treachery, his anger growing with every step he took. Perhaps Bunion had the right idea. How hard would it be to summon the Paladin and put an end to Rydall once and for all? Easy enough if he chose to do it, he thought. But where would that leave Mistaya?
He wondered suddenly if this was all an elaborate trick, if the horses, the necklace, and the scarf were lures to bring him out into the open. He wondered if Rydall really did have Mistaya and her escort as his prisoners. He surmised that it could all be a clever lie.
But he knew in his heart it wasn’t.
He reached the far end of the causeway and stopped. The riders stared down at him from atop their chargers. Wordlessly Ben reached down for the gauntlet. It came away from the bridge easily, as if nothing more than force of will had held it in place those three days past. Ben straightened and looked directly at Rydall. Marnhull’s King was much bigger than he had first thought, a man of surprising size and undoubted strength. His black-cloaked companion, on the other hand, seemed smaller. The faces of both were carefully hidden beneath helmet and hood, respectively.
Ben flung the gauntlet back at Rydall. The big man caught it easily and waved it in mock salute.
“Do not mistake this for anything but what it is, Rydall,” Ben said quietly. “And know this. If anything happens to Mistaya or Questor Thews or Abernathy or one of my Guards, I will hunt you down even if I am required to descend into the fires of Abaddon!”
Rydall bent forward. “You will never have to search that far for me, Holiday. Nor think for one moment that I would be afraid of you if you did.” He tightened his reins and swung his horse about. “Three days, High Lord of Landover. The first of my creatures comes for you then. If I were you, I would start thinking about how to stay alive.”
He kicked his mount sharply, and the warhorse leapt away. Once again his black-cloaked companion lingered. Ben could feel eyes studying him from within the hood’s deep shadows, as if trying to discover something. Fear, perhaps? Ben held his ground, staring back determinedly. Then Bunion was beside him, hissing furiously at the rider, all teeth and claws as he advanced.
The second rider wheeled away then and galloped after Rydall across the meadow. Ben stood with his kobold protector and watched until they had disappeared into the trees.
Safely back within the forest shadows where even the new light had not yet penetrated, the riders reined to a halt and dismounted. Nightshade threw off the cloak that had concealed her and, discarding the cramped and hunched form she had assumed as her disguise, restored her body to its normal shape. Her hands lifted then to form a brief spell of invisibility, protection against the unlikely event that someone would stumble across them. When the spell was in place, she used her magic a second time to change the horses back into tiny green and black striped lizards that quickly skittered up her arm and into the folds of her robes.
Rydall stood watching, his visor still lowered. “He does not seem afraid,” he offered petulantly.
Nightshade laughed. “No, not yet. His anger shields him for the moment. He still doubts that we really have his daughter. He will need to make certain of that before fear can take hold. Then my creatures will come for him, one after the other, and the fear will build. He will begin to imagine all sorts of things coming to pass, none of them good. He will search for us and fail to find even the smallest trace. He will despair of hope. Then, I promise, the fear will have him.”
“He has the sylph for support, don’t forget.”
There was a flash of anger in Nightshade’s red eyes. “Do not mock me, King Rydall, who never was Rydall or King. You serve at my pleasure; do not forget that.”
The other stood motionless before her and said nothing, a wall of iron. But she could sense his hesitation and was satisfied. “He has her for now, yes,” she admitted. “But in the end I’ll see her stripped from him as well. In the end he will be left alone.”
Rydall shifted impatiently. “I would feel better about this if I knew the whole of your plan. What if something goes wrong?”
She straightened so that she seemed to grow before his eyes. “Nothing will go wrong. I have planned too carefully for that. As for knowing what I intend, it is better for now that I keep some things to myself. You know as much as you need to know.” She gave him a coldly appraising look. “I’ll send you back now. Tend to your affairs and await my summons.”
Rydall looked away, his armor creaking. “I could have killed him on the bridge and the matter would have been finished then and there. You should have let me.”
“And spoil what I have worked and planned for these two years past?” Nightshade was incredulous. “I think not. Besides, I am not so sure you are his better. You have never given proof of it.”
He started to object, a grunt of anger rising from his throat, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Stay silent. You will do as I say. Holiday’s demise is to be left to me. Your part in this is settled. I want no dispute. You are not trying to dispute me, are you?”
There was a long silence from the other. “No,” he replied finally.
“Good. If you want Holiday dead, and I know you do, then leave it to me to arrange. Now go.”
She wove her hands through the air before her, and Rydall disappeared in a rising column of mist. She waited until she was sure he had been dispatched back to where he had come from. She neither liked nor trusted him, but he was useful in this matter and would do as a cat’s-paw until she was finished. Until Holiday was dead.
She closed her eyes in pleasure as she envisioned the play-King’s final moments. She had pictured it over and over again in her mind, shaping it, honing it, polishing it until it was perfect. She could see every detail of it. She could see him breathing for the final time, see the look in his eyes as he realized what had been done to him, hear the despair in his voice as he tried to cry out.
Oh, it would happen. It most definitely would. For now, however, there were other matters that needed her attention.
She brought up her hands one final time. A rush of dark mist engulfed her, and she was gone.
Ben Holiday was already thinking furiously as he walked back across the causeway and reentered Sterling Silver. Willow had come down from the battlements and was waiting for him. She rushed up, and he held her close in an effort to still the trembling inside them both.
“We’ll get her back,” he whispered, feeling her fists tighten against his back. “I promise.”
Then he turned to Bunion, who was trailing behind. “Leave for the lake country right away,” he ordered the kobold. “Tell the River Master that his granddaughter has been kidnapped by Rydall of Marnhull and ask for his help in searching for her. Tell him any assistance he chooses to give will be greatly appreciated. Be sure he understands that she was traveling to his country for safekeeping when she was taken. Keep an eye out for any sign of what might have happened on your journey down. And Bunion,” he added, “be careful yourself. Don’t take any chances. I’ve already lost Questor and Abernathy. I don’t want to lose you as well.”
The kobold grinned and showed his teeth. It wasn’t likely that anything would happen to a creature that could dispatch a cave wight or a bog wump without breaking a sweat, but Ben was spooked by how easily Rydall had overcome those he had sent to protect Mistaya. If that was what had really happened, of course. He still wasn’t sure, but he had to assume the worst. Bunion’s visit to the River Master was necessary.
Bunion turned and was gone so swiftly that Ben had to remind himself why he had dispatched his royal messenger in the first place. Kobolds were the fastest creatures alive. A trip to the lake country would take a kobold barely a day. They were strange beings, their bodies all gnarled and bristly, their legs bowed and their arms crooked, their faces monkeylike, and their teeth as numerous and sharp as an alligator’s, an amalgam
of bizarre and diverse features. But kobolds had served the Kings of Landover for many years, and they were loyal and tough. Ben knew he could depend on Bunion.
He started across the entry court, Willow at his side. “I’m going up to use the Landsview. Maybe I can find some trace of Misty. Will you cancel all my appointments for the day? I’ll be down as soon as I can.”
He climbed to the castle’s highest tower and boarded the Landsview, the magical instrument that allowed its user to travel from one end of Landover to the other without leaving Sterling Silver. He invoked the magic, rose out of the tower as if actually flying, and in his mind’s eye scanned the whole of the countryside without finding his daughter or his friends or any indication of what had happened to them. He made a quick visit to Elderew, the home of the River Master, but there was nothing to show that the once-fairy were aware that anything had happened.
He went from there to the eastern borders, searching the fringes of the fairy mists from the Fire Springs south, but there was no sign of Rydall or Mistaya or anything that would have led him to either. He looked for Strabo, but the dragon was not to be found. Probably sleeping in one of the fire pits it called home. He moved on to the Melchor north and finally to the Deep Fell, whose hollows were the one place he could not enter from the Landsview. Nightshade’s magic would not permit it. He paused momentarily, thinking that those he searched for could easily be hidden there and he would never know. But it was reaching to imagine that Nightshade was involved in any of this. As much as she hated him, she hated outsiders more. She would never conspire with anyone who intended to invade Landover. Besides, no one had even seen her in months. Ben moved on.
He spent the whole of the morning searching the countryside for Mistaya and his friends and found not a single trace of any of them. It was as if they had disappeared off the face of the earth. When he finally came back into the chamber and stepped down off the lectern, he was exhausted. Use of the Landsview’s magic had worn him out, and he had nothing to show for it. He was discouraged and frightened. He went down to his bedchamber and fell asleep.