Lord of the Rose tros-1

by Douglas Niles

  Ankhar knew all this, and knew to be patient.

  His army made a sprawling camp outside those three plains roads. There was another, much narrower, track leading out of the city to the south, climbing through a perilous series of switchbacks as it ascended along the front ridge of the mountain range. That was no path for an army or for the flight of a panicked populace. Instead, the commander knew to keep his eyes and his army trained on the three great gates, intimidating the enemy army and the lord huddling behind those high, thick walls.

  He was standing in the middle of his camp, staring up at the north gate, when one of the guards came up to him in the late twilight hours. “Lord Ankhar?” said the hobgoblin, snuffling loudly. “An ogre is here to see you.”

  The half giant nodded. He followed the guard through the camp toward the darkening expanse of plains. To the south the vast bulk of Solanthus rose against the sky. The walls and towers of that ancient bastion were already aglitter with torchlight.

  The half giant shook his head at such foolishness. Didn’t the knights know those flames only served to night-blind their own men and provided no defense against the great army before their city?

  At the edge of the camp, the hulking chieftain could not disguise his surprise. There was not just “an ogre” to see him, but a feathered and painted ogre chieftain of strapping sinew and size. Even more significant, this visitor stood at the head of a vast column of his fellow ogres and another great host of hobgoblins and gobs. There were at least two thousand fresh warriors, and all of them pressed forward, casting admiring eyes toward the huge war leader.

  “Lord Ankhar?” asked the ogre, prostrating himself on the ground at the half-giant’s feet. Behind him, the great company of savages knelt in unison.

  “I Ankhar.”

  “I am Bloodgutter, chief of the Lemish vales. Even beyond the mountains we have heard tales of your deeds among the plains of men. You have battled the knighthood on the open field and defeated them! Your victories are the birth of legend, and you give us hope against our hated foe. We hurried here over many days of marching to offer you our swords, and our blood.”

  “Aye. Lemish long way. You a bold ogre.”

  “In truth, lord, Lemish is a poor country now. We were driven there in ages past by the armies of the knights. For years we have waited for a chance at vengeance. We ask only a fair position in your army, lord Ankhar. For that, we will gladly give you our trust, our lives.”

  “Est Sudanus oth Nikkas,” the half giant said. “My power is my Truth.”

  “I pledge my tribe to the Truth that is Ankhar,” the ogre said, bowing his head.

  “You serve me? Only me?” asked the half-giant.

  “To the death, lord!”

  “Very good,” said the war chief, pleased by the surprise reinforcements. “Make camp with ours. Welcome. Bloodgutter valued sub-captain. Rest and eat. We attack humans soon.”

  The duke gazed at the Cleft Spires, which rose higher than the loftiest castle tower and broader even than the great gatehouses that stood astride the three highways leading from the city.

  Solanthus was a plains city, though it stood in the shadow of the mountains. Now the plains were lost, taken by the horde-the army-of Ankhar. Who knew how long the city itself would last?

  The duke felt a stranglehold of fear, like a fist clamped on his throat. He had to get away from here-he had to flee!

  “What is it?” The Duchess of Solanthus, her face pale, confronted her husband as he paced back and forth in his private offices. She was a beautiful woman, much younger than her husband, but now her face was drawn, almost haggard with worry. Duke Rathskell’s obvious fear only made her more terrified.

  The Duke of Solanthus was wringing his hands, as he had been doing throughout the night. Couriers had been bringing him a steady stream of reports, and he knew that his city was nearly surrounded. The last news-that a great brigade of ogres had joined the foe-had driven him to an uncharacteristic burst of profanity. That outburst, emerging from beyond the closed door of his chamber, had brought his wife running in concern. He glared at her, then back at the message. Abruptly the duke crumpled the sheet and cast it aside with a furious gesture.

  “I must get the Stones of Garnet away from here!” he declared. “The Lord Regent commands it-he needs them to bolster the knighthood across Solamnia!”

  “But… Rathsky? You always said those stones were yours, to be used as you see fit! Not for Bakkard du Chagne or the other dukes. Isn’t that right?” she asked, as sweetly as she dared.

  “I see fit now to take them away from here!” he snapped.

  “But the goblins!” gasped the duchess, waving in the general direction of the city walls. “They have ogres and draconians with them too! There must be ten thousand of them out there! They could attack at any moment! Should we really be worrying about the stones”

  “No… I mean yes, my dear,” said the rail-thin duke, as he glowered at the walls, the floor, at everything in sight, including his wife. Still, he forced himself to speak calmly. “I must save the stones, and of course that means I must leave the city with them.”

  “What are you going to do?” the woman asked breathlessly.

  “Well, I have no choice,” snapped Rathskell, decisively. “I will place the most portable of my treasury-the gems and jewelry-into strongboxes and have them loaded onto a wagon and personally drive that wagon up the mountain road. I will head for Caergoth. That way, at least I will be able to exert my influence on Duke Crawford-he will bring his troops to the city’s aid!”

  “How will you-I mean, we-get out? The road to Thelgaard and Caergoth is blocked by that terrible army of savages!”

  “I told you-the mountain road, my dear. And not we-just me. It is rough, but with a good team and driver, I should be able to get up into the foothills before the wretches know what I am about. With luck, I can reach Caergoth in three days and be back with a relief force within a week in plenty of time to rescue you.”

  “But-what about the city? Your castle?” The duchess sniffled. “What about me?”

  “Captain Rankin will be in charge. As long as he keeps the gates closed and the walls manned, you will be safe here. I can’t ask you to take the risks of the road, my dear. If we can keep those wretches focused on Solanthus, it may be that Caergoth will be able to fall upon them from behind. Yes, that is my plan, and if I so say so myself, a brilliant plan, with bright hopes for success!”

  “Do you really think so?”

  The duke fixed his wife with a withering glare.

  CHAPTER TWENTY — SEVEN

  Treasure Road

  H orribly seared by the black dragon’s acid, Carbo writhed in pain as Jaymes bore him along, the bluff above the broad Vingaard. They made camp at the first shelter they reached in a grass-lined ravine, and Dram gave his small flask of dwarf spirits to their injured companion. The strong drink seemed to alleviate the little fellow’s pain, but it couldn’t do anything to heal his grievous wounds. The acid had burned his flesh away and blinded him. They stretched him on a blanket on the ground. He held his brother’s and sister’s hands, as, gradually, his labored breathing grew quieter, more relaxed.

  Carbo died shortly after sunset, and the companions laid him to rest in a small grave, watered by the tears of his sister and his long-lost brother. Jaymes and Dram, having dug the grave, stood uncomfortably by as the bereaved pair sobbed out their farewells.

  “You should never have come for me,” cried Salty Pete, his narrow shoulders quivering. “This wouldn’t have happened-he’d still be with us!”

  “No,” Sulfie said, sniffling, wiping her large nose with a handkerchief. “He wanted to come and find you. He was so brave.”

  Jaymes cleared his throat, touched his chin, his heart. “I think he’s proud that he helped to get you out. He was a hero.”

  “But he’s dead! Sheedra killed him, called him a ‘nasty’! I hate her!” Pete proclaimed.

  “Well, she’s dead t
oo. Jaymes and his sword took care of her,” Dram said.

  “I’m sorry it was too late for your brother,” the swordsman said.

  Jaymes turned and stalked to the edge of the ravine. He looked at the murky waters of the Upper Vingaard, his fists clenched into white-knuckled knots in the gathering darkness.

  “Jaymes-wake up.”

  The warrior was awake in an instant, sitting up, reaching for his sword, until he recognized the white-robed enchantress who had suddenly appeared, as she so often did, without warning.

  “What is it?” he asked, throwing off his blanket and rising to his feet. “You have news?”

  He and his three companions were camped on the open plains, several days march south of the Brackens and the grave where they had buried Carbo. Sulfie, Pete, and the dwarf still slept. Nearby, two casks stood with their gear, containing the rest of the explosive compound they had been able to ferret away from Sheedra’s lair.

  “The Duke of Solanthus is moving the contents of his vault to Caergoth or Palanthas. He will take it on the road himself. If our suspicions are correct-if he is the one who ordered the murder of Lord Lorimar-the green diamonds will be among that treasure.”

  “Do you really think it was him?”

  Coryn shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what to think. Remember what you told me: The house was attacked by six knights, none wearing the sign of an order.”

  “But they were Solamnics, I’m sure of that,” the warrior asserted. “One of them was standing over Dara’s body and muttering, reciting that foul pledge- Est Sularus oth Mithas.”

  “And she was already dead?”

  “Yes, I told you. I was in another part of the house, I heard the commotion and came running. Dara had been stabbed through the heart. The lord was bleeding, his leg nearly sliced off.”

  “And the attackers?”

  Jaymes shook his head. “I’ve told you all this before… more than once.”

  “Be patient. Tell me again,” said the wizard.

  “I can’t remember details. I lost my head, to be honest. I was in such a rage, I killed them all. Five of them, and quickly. The last one talked a bit-only told me his lord would be pleased.”

  “Could they have been bandits?”

  “No, there was discipline in their attack, like knights. That vow-I will swear on what’s left of my honor that they weren’t Dark Knights. They were Solamnics.”

  “Then it must have been Rathskell,” the enchantress said. “We know he was furious when Lorimar denied him the right to seek Dara’s hand in marriage. Thelgaard strikes me as too stupid for such deviousness, so I think Solanthus is the one. He will be leaving with his treasure before the dawn.”

  “Why? Isn’t the safest place for his treasure within the walls of his own castle?”

  Coryn gave him a sly half-smile. “Let’s just say that all of the lords are having an attack of nerves. The Lord Regent feels he is short of funds. Perhaps I had a little something to do with that.”

  “What, you stole his gold?” Jaymes asked.

  “Of course not!” The white robe feigned shock. “I did fix it so that he might be a little reluctant to spend it. In any event, Solanthus plans to ride even before the dawn. He will take the mountain road to the south so he can avoid the horde on the plains.”

  The warrior frowned. “I’ll never get there in time,” he said, shaking his head. “Even with a fleet horse-”

  She cut him off, her smile broadening. “Well, there are more expeditious ways to travel than even astride the fastest horse.”

  He looked at her questioningly.

  “Let me have your ring,” she said.

  Puzzled, he pulled the golden band off of his finger and handed it to her. She held it up and murmured an incantation, repeating the quiet words three more times. When Coryn handed the ring back to him, it felt slightly warm.

  “Go ahead, put it back on,” she instructed. “You will be able to use it to teleport four times-you must picture the place you wish to go. Turn the ring twice around your finger, and it will take you there.”

  A shiver ran down his back as Jaymes slipped it over his finger. The warmth it emanated felt pleasant, comforting.

  “Do you know the mountain road south out of Solanthus?” she asked him.

  “Yes. I know it well from my goblin-hunting days. Dram and I just traveled that way to meet with Cornellus.”

  “Good.” Coryn handed him a small leather bag. “Here,” she said, answering his raised eyebrows, “this is a magic bag. In case,” she added with her sly half-smile, “you find yourself with a few more treasures than you can easily carry in your pockets.”

  He nodded. “It should come in handy,” he said.

  By now Dram had awakened, and the two gnomes were also stirring. Jaymes filled them in. “You should make for the Vingaard Mountains with all haste,” he said. “I will catch up as soon as I can. Tell Swig Frostmead I’ll be bringing his money.”

  After a hasty goodbye, the White Witch wrapped them both in the cocoon of her magic, and they were gone.

  The wagon rumbled along the narrow mountain way, skirting the steep foothills of the Garnet Range. The Duke of Solanthus and his driver clung to the rails and the reins, trying to stay perched on the jolting seat. A column of a dozen Knights of the Crown clattered along ahead of the four sturdy workhorses pulling the wagon, while a similar detachment followed close behind.

  The road was dangerous. To their right, the slope spilled down to a cliff, which hung over a dry ravine some two or three hundred feet below. To the left, the land rose sharply.

  They had departed through a little-used gate in the very south of the city walls, far from the main roads connecting Solanthus to the rest of Solamnia. Fortunately, there were no goblins near this route. Leaving before dawn, they had been able to travel high into the mountains before the sun rose. Behind them now they could see the ogre army sprawled across the plains like locusts, a dark smudge extending for miles in three directions around the walled city dominated by the stark landmark of the Cleft Spires.

  Duke Rathskell glanced over his shoulder, not at his besieged city but at the four strongboxes lashed into the wagon’s cargo bed. They were all filled with jewels. Probably enough jewels to ransom his city, he reflected sourly, but they were bound elsewhere.

  “My lord duke!”

  Rathskell saw one of the men from his trailing escort galloping forward, waving for his attention. He kept his grip on the side rail, gritting his teeth at every wrenching bounce, waiting for the man to catch up to the rumbling wagon.

  “What is it?” snapped the duke, even as the driver, at his orders, kept urging the team of horses onward.

  “Goblins, my lord,” said the knight. “A large number have moved onto the road behind us. They seem bent on giving chase.”

  “How many of them?” he asked.

  “A detachment. A good-sized group, to be sure-maybe a thousand of the bastards. We didn’t spot them at first, and now they are but a few miles behind us.”

  Rathskell cursed. “Are any of them mounted?” he demanded.

  “No, sir. The party appears to be on foot.”

  “Good. We should be able to outrun the wretches. Now go back to your post, and keep an eye on them! Let me know if you see any sign of worg-riders or if they appear to be closing the gap.”

  “Aye, lord!” The knight snapped off a salute and turned to ride away. Rathskell was still watching him when he was stunned by the loudest explosion he had ever heard. Dust and smoke rmixed with gouts of fire billowed across the road behind the wagon. The duke watched in disbelief as the man and horse, propelled by the blast, went soaring into space and tumbled toward the base of the rocky precipice along which the road skirted.

  The team of horses bucked and surged ahead in sudden panic, lurching the heavy vehicle forward over the bumpy road-until, moments later, a second blast obliterated a great section of that roadway, right in the path of the advancin
g wagon. The lead horse fell, part of its head torn away by the explosion, while another steed shrieked piteously and went down with a broken leg.

  “What’s happening?” demanded Rathskell, panic setting in as he stood up and drew his sword. The driver didn’t answer. Instead, he clasped both hands to his bleeding forehead where a shard of rock had smashed him, then slumped, unconscious, in his seat.

  The wagon was trapped, the duke could see-two sections had been blown out of the cliff-side road, blocking passage forward and back. The two blasts had neatly separated the duke from his escort of knights. Some of those men had recovered their senses but were forced to rein in at the edges of the gaps. There was no way for the mounted men to reach their lord.

  “Are you all right, Excellency?” called one captain, astride an agitated horse at the edge of the forward gap. “Are you hurt?”

  Rathskell shook his head, still trying to grasp what had happened. Was it magic that had torn the very roadway off of the mountain? He didn’t think so-not from the ogres.

  “Stay there, lord! We’ll try to reach you!” cried the captain, the leader of the detachment at the front of the column.

  One brave rider volunteered. The knight urged his horse into a gallop and tried to leap the still-smoking breach in the road. The distance was too great, and both horse and rider tumbled over and bounced down the cliff, finally settling in gruesomely distorted poses among the broken rocks below. Wincing, the duke looked away toward the rear. He saw the knights there taking a defensive posture down the road, dismounting, drawing weapons. Several of the men were hauling fallen timbers out of the woods, making an impromptu breastwork. With a sickening sense of apprehension, the duke remembered the goblins-“maybe a thousand of the bastards”-coming at them hard and fast from that direction.

  Only then did Duke Rathskell notice a lone swordsman step into sight, on the island of road with the duke and his trapped wagon. The man’s weapon, a mighty blade, was gripped in both his hands, as he approached the disabled wagon.

  He wore a cape, and his whiskered face was devoid of any emotion. But his eyes were dark, and smoldered with contempt.