Thatcher nodded silent agreement.
“Then I will need that brilliant mind of yours to help me with something. I am no good at judging exact distances, but unless I am far out of my reckoning, the back wall of this room would lie somewhere above the stables to the west of the manor house.”
“Yeah,” Thatcher thought, recollecting the general layout of the building and the grounds. “That seems right.”
“Good. When we exit the hostel, I will need you to make an excuse to check on the horses and get a look inside the stables.”
“Check the horses? Why?”
“I’m trying to tell you why. I need you to pay attention, keeping your head clear and memory sharp. When we get to a secure place, draw me an accurate map of the hostel and the stables with distances. They may intend this to be a prison, but in the event things go poorly, I don’t intend to be an animal in a cage to be disposed of at will.”
Thatcher nodded his understanding.
“Yeah, since we walked in last night I have felt like a fish in a barrel here. I’ll get you your map.”
Melizar busied himself with books from his own pack, reviewing details of things written in a language that Thatcher had never seen. The mage was so engrossed in his studies that it seemed he had forgotten anyone else was even in the room. Although the single, round, barred window in the room faced west, the faint glow in the sky showed the sun had already risen on the far side of the manor house. Thatcher heard a knock at the door.
“Yes?” he answered.
The guard indicated that they should ready themselves and that they would be taken to the palace to meet with her highness Princess Tarynna in a half an hour. So much for breakfast.
Thatcher roused his companions, and this morning, even Jeslyn rose quickly with anticipation of the importance of the meeting ahead. Gideon cautioned the girl.
“Jeslyn, you need to let us do the talking, remember. Relations between my homeland and Cyria are tense at best, and when we break the news about Xyer Garan’s betrayal to the princess, things could get ugly.”
Goldain, standing behind Gideon, held up an empty sack and jiggled it in the air while nodding in Jeslyn’s direction. The young archer gulped and busied herself with getting packed.
As they went to open their door and head downstairs, they found it locked from the outside. After an exchange of puzzled looks, Goldain, in his usual display of Qarahni subtlety, pounded loudly on the door.
“Open this door now, or I am going to rip it off the hinges and shove it far up the backside of the first person I find on the other side of it.”
Within moments, the sound of a deadbolt being drawn on the other side of the door echoed in the room. The door opened to reveal a pair of nervous guardsmen on the other side.
“Our apologies. We lock all the doors for the protection of the guests during the night. It is standard procedure,” replied one of the guardsmen.
“Well, you see, when the door is locked from the outside, that don’t exactly protect those inside. Anyone wishing to do us harm could simply draw back the same bolt you just did.” The Qarahni seemed in no mood for his normal playing-dumb routine at the moment. “Your policies are what they are, but don’t piss on my head and tell me it’s raining.”
Thatcher appreciated the refreshing directness of Qarahni diplomacy.
The guardsmen escorted the five visitors downstairs and out the front door of the manor house. As soon as they were in the courtyard, Thatcher spoke up.
“Before we go, I must check on the horses. Take me to them.”
Without waiting, he turned toward the stables and began to walk toward them. One of the guardsmen escorting them stepped in front of him to block his way.
“Check the horses,” replied Jeslyn. “Why you—” she was interrupted when Melizar subtly but forcefully stepped on her foot.
“Ow!” the girl said as she spun to face the mage.
“Remember the bag Goldain promised?” Thatcher overheard Melizar whisper. “One more word, and they will need four bags.”
Thatcher fought hard against a smile threatening to erupt from his face as Jeslyn’s eyes went wide as she stammered a response.
“Uh...why you better check on the horses, Thatcher. I’ve taken the past three turns. It’s about time you pulled your weight, stable boy.”
Thatcher scowled at the girl’s unnecessary improvisation but directed his attention to the guard blocking his way.
“Sir, kill me if you must because my master, that scary looking mage fellow there, will kill me more slowly and more painfully if I don’t report that I personally have seen to the welfare of his horse. If you want to explain why you murdered some of the people you were supposed to bring to the princess, that is your affair, but I am checking on our horses either way.”
With that, Thatcher pushed past the guardsman and stepped quickly toward the stable. The guardsman, at a complete loss how to handle these unruly guests, whistled to the archers on the walls and used two fingers to point to his own eyes and then to point to the remaining four heroes, indicating that they be watched closely.
The guardsman ran ahead of Thatcher, who was busy counting off paces and making mental notes of the layout. The soldier opened the door to the stables and followed Thatcher inside. The stable was dark, as there were no windows in the building. A few unlit lanterns hung about, but the light creeping in from the wide double-doors was the sole source of illumination. Fortunately, it was more than adequate.
The stable had twelve stalls, seven along the west wall and five along the east. Their horses were in the northwestern most five stalls on the west side. Apparently, they were the only guests with horses staying at the hostel. Thatcher made a show of inspecting each animal and then, with a smug look and satisfied nod to the guardsman, exited and returned to the party.
“Master, the animals are all well taken care of and in good health,” he said with an exaggerated bow to Melizar. They all then followed their escort out of the gates. All of the hubbub caused by the insistence on a trip to the stable had now grown their escort to a contingent of ten heavily armed and armored guards. Four, with crossbows loaded and cocked, walked behind the heroes.
“These Cyrians sure know how to make folks feel welcome,” Goldain quipped. “It’s no wonder everyone says this is the place to go on vacation. So, Captain, you think all this special treatment is because of you, or you think this hostile hostel is the standard fare around here?”
“I’m not sure,” Gideon replied. “I have never been a guest in Cyria before. I imagine me being along, and we showing up with a dead Cyrian hero in tow, probably didn’t do a lot to ease tensions. They are bringing us to meet the princess. Maybe then we can get a better idea of the situation.”
They went in silence the rest of the way to the palace. It was a large utilitarian building with very little ostentatious decoration. From most of their trip through the city that Cyrian architectural styles leaned toward the stoic and functional far more than decorative. As they were escorted into the main hall of the palace they beheld a raised dais on the far end with two fairly plain thrones made of wood resting there. The thrones were empty, and the hall was dimly lit only by the sun creeping in through the various windows to the east.
As they were escorted toward a room to the eastern side of the main hall, the guards stopped them at the doorway.
“You must leave your weapons here. No one is permitted to go armed into the presence of the princess.”
The apprehension at being disarmed in such an obviously untrusting place did not sit well with Thatcher and Melizar, but Goldain and Gideon immediately began removing their weapons. Gideon, taking off his belt from which hung his sword and dagger, calmed them.
“It would be no different if you were brought before King Paryn. Even in peacetime, no stranger goes before the ruler of another kingdom armed. Don’t let the liberalities that Mayor Farnsworth takes with security fool you into thinking that is the norm.”
The room they entered was carpeted with a finely woven rug. Three chairs adorned the eastern end below a large stained-glass window depicting a scene of a mounted knight in Cyrian black and green colors skewering with his lance another unmounted knight, wearing the blue and scarlet of Parynland.
Standing before the middle seat was a beautiful, raven-haired woman in her mid-twenties with eyes like sparkling amethyst. She was in a gorgeously embroidered green gown and a large emerald pendant hung from her neck. Two smaller emeralds of the same forest green were set in dangling mountings and hung from her ears. Another large emerald, of much lighter hue, was set in a ring, which rested on her left forefinger. She wore no crown upon her head, but there was no doubt that they were standing before Princess Tarynna.
To her right a man with a salt-and-pepper beard stood, arms crossed, bearing a look as though someone just killed his favorite dog. He wore the shining green-tinted chainmail of the Cyrian military. Upon the seat behind him was a black helmet bearing two bull horns, one mounted to either side of the helmet.
To her left stood an older man with streaks of white running through his black hair and beard. He bent over a bit leaning on a staff. He wore solid black robes trimmed with a blood-red raised collar. The man’s gaze seemed to stare straight through the visitors as though he were looking past their flesh and into their very souls.
“Thank you, guardsmen,” the princess said. “That will be all.”
The guardsmen exited the room behind them. Thatcher noted that no sound of the armored men leaving the vicinity followed their departure. They were still nearby should they be needed.
“My apologies for your somewhat cool reception,” Tarynna said with a regal, somewhat detached smile. “My father, King Cyrus, has been ill for several months due to the lack of supplies and medications from the caravans. Most of the duties have fallen to me now, and with raiders in the pass, bandits on the borders, and spies roaming the countryside, we have had to adjust our security measures to accommodate. Please allow me to introduce Field Marshal Arian”—she indicated the man in the green chainmail—“my chief military advisor, and this is Daemius”—she pointed toward the black-robed figure on her left—“my chief counselor. I trust your stay last night was comfortable?”
“We felt very...secure,” Goldain replied.
Tarynna ignored the response as she turned around and took her seat in the center chair. The field marshal and the counselor remained standing beside her in front of the other two seats.
“So it seems,” Tarynna continued, staring directly at Gideon. “One of our knights has met his end while serving with you. Do tell me what you know about the death of Lord Garan.”
Thatcher was certain he caught a glint of a knowing twinkle in Tarynna’s eye as she awaited a response. Beside him, Thatcher heard Melizar mumbling quietly something very similar to the sounds he made at the Aton-Ri counsel when Garan was speaking. Perhaps the mage was using a veritas spell, but no one else seemed to notice.
“Princess Tarynna,” said Gideon as he bowed deeply. “I am Sir Gideon Trueheart, knight and paladin of Parynland and, in my role as an auxiliary Captain in the employ of Aton-Ri, current leader of this company. I am afraid I must deliver news concerning Xyer Garan will not be easy news to hear. I speak the truth, however, and if you would prefer to have someone use any truth-finding oth, kashaph, or koach before I give this testimony, I would willingly submit to such.”
“Sir Gideon,” the princess replied with a hint of sarcasm lacing her tone, “it is my understanding that the paladins of Parynland would rather cut out their tongues than tell a lie…or such is the rumor. If one cannot trust the testimony of a Parynland knight, what has the world come to? Please proceed.”
Thatcher burned with the desire to warn Gideon. He felt certain that Tarynna was baiting him, or setting him up for some larger game she was playing. Maybe life as a rogue had just preconditioned him to suspicion, but there was nothing he could do at the moment but watch and wait.
“I regret to inform you, Princess Tarynna,” Gideon continued, “Xyer Garan was killed because in the midst of battle, he turned upon us and joined the bandit forces attacking us. He called the Ogre commander by name, showing he both knew of the attack and the attackers. He had two other agents working with him as well—a bard named Rarib and a cook named Podam. We have reason to believe they were former prisoners here in Cyria before Garan secured their release in exchange for assisting in his schemes.”
“Guards!” the princess called out suddenly.
The heroes tensed in anticipation as the doors swung open behind them and several armed guardsmen entered, weapons drawn, in response to Tarynna’s call.
“You men,” Tarynna ordered, “send four guardsmen to the prison to inspect the records. Find out if two prisoners, named Rarib and Podam, were released under the authority of Lord Xyer Garan.”
“Yes, your majesty”
“If so, execute Marut the jailor, immediately. If not, then return here with the prison record books right away.”
The guardsmen left the room, closing the doors behind them, and the heroes relaxed a bit.
“If your story is true, then we will know soon enough. Whether or not the accomplices were prisoners here, I take your testimony about Garan as truth. Continue.”
“Garan had critically injured me with his surprise attack but fortunately my comrade Goldain, a Qarahni prince,” Gideon said, pointing to the northerner who bowed his head respectfully to the princess, “stepped in and prevented Garan from finishing the job. Garan fell to Goldain’s blade as he defended me lying fallen on the battlefield with the bandit forces still surrounding us.”
“Well, the paladins of Parynland must have remarkable recovery abilities. Garan has been dead less than half a week, and you have gone from critical to tip-top shape. With such resilience, it is no wonder we lost the war.”
Thatcher could hear the mix of sarcasm and bitterness in Tarynna’s retort. The wounds of the civil war still ran deep even after nearly thirty years. Tarynna would have been much too young to remember the war, but obviously, stories of it had been part of her upbringing.
“Hardly, your highness.” Gideon answered, not taking the bait but keeping his normal calm demeanor as he responded. “I am a man like any other. Healing oth restored my health. Had the battle kept our company healing priest from me a few more minutes, someone else would have the duty of delivering this ill news.”
“There have been rumors for some time that the Garan family has been in collusion with Parynlanders plotting some form of war against us. It seems it is not enough that the rich lands and mines to the north were all kept by King Paryn after the war while we were relegated to the useless rock piles, difficult clay soil, and bug-and-bandit-riddled Dotham Woods. Even these woods given as part of Cyria’s land we cannot even conquer and claim as our own. They are infested with reptiloids and goblinoids. Our envoys tell us that Parynland heraldry devices were found in the lairs of raiders in the Wild Lands. It seems Parynland has determined to not limit its expansion plans to merely my country but to all the nations in the northwest.”
There it was! Thatcher sensed the princess had been like a hunting cat waiting to pounce, and now she had. Apparently goading was a skill not unique to Xyer Garan, but common to a Cyrians, or the noble caste at least. The question now was how their captain would respond.
Gideon’s normal composure left him and he raised his voice well above his diplomatic norm. As he took a step toward the princess, Field Marshal Arian’s sword cleared its scabbard with a quick movement. The Cyrian commander interposed himself
between the princess and the paladin.
“This is a lie!” Gideon snapped. “King Paryn chose peace and forgiveness of his brother Cyrus at the end of the war. We have kept that peace. Parynland has been a friend and ally to all the nations of the northwest and has not raised blade against any nation in thirty years.”
Daemius called out for the guards, who entered the room behind them even as Thatcher and Goldain stepped forward to help Gideon regain his composure.
“Calm down, boss,” Thatcher urged his captain. “We are outnumbered and unarmed, and wasn’t it you who told Jeslyn how important it is to keep cool in front of the wrong people. I know she is tugging on your tunic a bit here, but you gotta let it go.”
Tarynna, obviously not finished with her antagonism, reengaged.
“My dear knight, do not be angry with me. It is not common practice for rulers to make each and every person in their kingdom aware of their every plot and plan.”
As tensions escalated the sides struggled to avoid an open conflict, Melizar was not idle. He took the opportunity to reach into his pouch and pull forth a substance from his spell bag. Mumbling as subtly as he could the activing words of this kashaph spell , he smeared the substance onto his two gloved index fingers and reached within his hood to apply the gooey salve to his eyes, completing the spell. Although his actions were barely noticeable amidst the rest of the general commotion between the conflicting sides, as soon as the spell was cast, Tarynna’s provocative and dismissive attitude toward Gideon ceased and her eyes locked onto Melizar. The corner of one lip fought against a curling snarl, which threatened to overtake it before she regained her composure and ice-cold demeanor.
“My apologies,” Tarynna said in a voice loud enough to cut through the din. “Other duties call. You gentlemen will be escorted back to the hostel where you will remain until the morning. You will be given food and drink courtesy of the Cyrian royal court, but you will be expected first thing in the morning to leave Cyria via the delta less than a day’s ride to the north along the coast.”
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