by David Pauly
For an instant, Daerahil thought the dog was going to spring for him and was about to reach for his sword. But before he could act, the hound, with a flash of motion too swift to be truly followed, lunged to Daerahil's right. He heard more than saw the click of sharp white teeth inches from his face.
Shaking its head, the dog spat a small object from its mouth. Whimpering and whining, it worked its tongue gingerly, as if in great pain.
Peering down, Daerahil saw a large, unfamiliar wasp with brown and yellow stripes; writhing its last on the gravel. Daerahil had not heard it, much less seen it, as it had buzzed toward his face. Realizing the dog had saved him from a nasty sting, he said to the young servant who was accompanying him and his men, 'Fetch the chief handler and give the dog something for his poor tongue.'
The dog's tongue even now was becoming swollen and purple from the sting of the wasp.
'The chief handler, my Lord?' said the servant. 'He is not here, but I will summon the healer as soon as we are inside.'
'Nay, lad, summon him straightaway, for this magnificent beast took the sting that was meant for me. I will be comfortable here while you are away. Hurry now!'
With an incredulous glance, the youth darted off into the side of the keep. Hearing the whimper of the hound, Daerahil gently patted its head, trying to reassure it that help was on the way. Hearing feet crunch upon the gravel, Daerahil turned and saw the young servant trotting breathlessly back toward him with an older man huffing and puffing alongside him. Two attendants followed a step behind, carrying satchels full of goods.
Not recognizing the older man, Daerahil was slightly confused when the man briefly acknowledged him with a half salute and immediately began tending to the dog at his feet. The animal's distress had increased. As the man pried the dog's jaws open, Daerahil saw over his shoulder that the animal's mouth and tongue had swelled substantially and were quite red. Rasping orders to his two attendants, the man began pouring a thin, greenish liquid down the dog's throat. Coughing and spluttering, the dog tried to spit it out, but most of it went down. The healer called for the attendants to begin mixing a salve as he remained focused on his canine patient.
The young servant finally caught his breath and said, 'My Lord, please follow me into the keep, where rooms are being prepared for you and your men.'
Pausing for a moment, Daerahil asked the old man how the dog was going to fare.
'She should live, my Lord Prince,' replied the man with a gravelly voice.
'Live? It was only a wasp! How could it cause this poor dog to have a brush with death?' asked Daerahil.
'Just a wasp, my Lord? Nay, this was no ordinary pest. It was a Banded Wasp; surely you have seen them before?'
'A Banded Wasp? I have heard them described, but I have thankfully never seen one,' replied Daerahil.
'You have now,' said the healer.
All men knew of these dreaded wasps. Living among the stunted copses high in the hills and mountains surrounding the Plaga Erebus, they were thought to be a changed form of wasp that had prospered when the Dark Lightning ran through that darkest of lands in the days of Magnar. They were ferocious in defending their nests, and woe befell the unfortunate Man, Dwarf, or Elf who stumbled upon them. Legend had it that once provoked, the wasps would sting until they were dead, and their stings were incredibly powerful. Just one would cause the recipient hours of convulsive agony and produce huge swollen areas. Two or three stings, quite common with these vicious insects, resulted in a coma lasting for days if not weeks. More than five stings were invariably fatal; hitherto there had been no known antidote for their venom. Daerahil looked back upon the dog and thought that such a sting in the mouth would surely cause the dog's throat to swell shut as he had seen.
Amazingly, the tongue was far less protuberant than it had been just moments ago, and some of the anxious slobbering had subsided. Breathing a sigh of relief, the healer said, 'Yes, I believe she will recover.'
'What was it that you gave her?' asked Daerahil.
'A tonic for insect stings, which thankfully works quite quickly.'
Amazed, Daerahil said, 'I thought there was no antidote for the vile wasps.'
'There wasn't, Lord, until quite recently. A young healer by the name of Findalas came up with this concoction two years ago, and all of us healers keep a phial handy.'
'Findalas?'
'Surely, Lord, you have heard the story of the woman who was given the title of master healer at the age of twenty, the youngest by thirty years?'
'Yes,' said Daerahil. He had heard some mention of it two years ago.
'Well, Lord, you have her to thank as much as me for saving this animal's life. But really, it is we who are in your debt.'
'How so?' asked Daerahil.
'This is no ordinary dog, my Lord,' the healer replied. 'This is Prince Paladir's favorite bitch, and we just found out she is to have pups from the finest stud hound that was recently brought in from Hagar. I would not want to have been the man to tell the Prince that his bitch had died and her brood been lost.'
'Well, then, healer, it was fortuitous that I arrived when I did, for who knows? She might have encountered the wasp without a witness to her travails. I trust you will notify the groundskeeper to begin a search for the wasp nest, or she will not be the last to feel their brutal stings.'
Straightening up from his charge, the healer had his apprentices gently lay the dog upon a cloth stretcher and bear her away toward the keep. Asking and receiving permission to leave, the healer and his charge left the courtyard, and Daerahil followed the lead of the young servant into the keep.
Striding through the huge wooden doors of the main building, Daerahil, now joined by Hardacil, saw high ceilings built to maximize the light from deep set windows. The ceiling beams were mostly hidden in the glow of candles and lamps lit to compensate for the failing daylight. Daerahil was escorted to the room where he customarily stayed. He noted that there were more Shardan-style furnishings than previously. Surprised at the political risk that Paladir had taken by decorating the room in this fashion, Daerahil was impressed that Paladir had the independence to do as he saw fit in his own realm and not concern himself overmuch with what his uncle Creon might think.
Daerahil found the room that had been prepared for him quite comfortable. He and Hardacil were refreshing themselves with some fresh fruits and wine when Paladir's Chief Counselor, Girnon, entered the room. Girnon was of middle height and years. Daerahil knew him to be an efficient administrator.
'How may I be of service?' the man asked.
Feeling slightly confused, Daerahil asked, 'I would like to see the Prince as soon as possible.'
'The Prince, my Lord? The Prince is not here,' said Girnon.
'Not here!' cried Daerahil. 'How dare he send a message to me and not be here?'
'There must be some mistake, Lord, for Lord Paladir has been gone for a week, hunting with his hounds, and is not due to return until tonight at the earliest,' said Girnon.
Rising to his feet, Daerahil produced the message, holding it out to the counselor. 'Clearly you are mistaken, sir, for here is the Prince's message with his signet ring seal stamped in wax upon the bottom.'
'May I see that, Lord?' asked Girnon.
'Certainly,' said Daerahil.
As the counselor examined the message, his face rapidly lost color.
'My Lord, this is a clever forgery, for while the signet insignia is indeed the Prince's, we stopped using this white wax two weeks ago, when beautiful silver wax arrived from the Bastion. The Prince is quite fond of it, as it preserves the details of the ring most admirably. What distresses me more is that someone was able to make an excellent use of the Prince's ring, as it never leaves his hand, Lord, never.'
'Well, this is a pretty puzzle that we are set. You tell me the Prince is away and that the message is a forgery most cleverly done,' said Daerahil. 'Clearly someone wanted me here at the keep. What is your readiness to repel invaders?'
; 'Repel invaders, my Lord?' asked Girnon.
'Yes. Stop talking as if you are one of those colorful birds that have become popular in the City which endlessly repeat what they have heard,' said Daerahil. 'I repeat, what is your readiness?'
'We have fifty guards here on duty, with ten more escorting Prince Paladir, but their military status is a matter for their guard captain, not myself,' said Girnon.
Turning to Hardacil, Daerahil said, 'Go and find Paladir's guard captain and place the keep on full alert. Close the gates and bring in the men and the horses, except for the scouts at their posts. Have them alerted to be on the lookout for intruders.'
'By whose authority are you usurping the power of Prince Paladir?' asked the startled and now angry Girnon.
'By the authority of the King,' replied Daerahil. 'As his son and a Prince of the realm, I take authority over all others except my father and brother, particularly in matters of security, when the local lord is absent.'
Pausing a moment before responding, Girnon stated, 'Yes, Lord, you are correct, but when my Lord Paladir returns, you may find yourself in conflict with his wishes.'
Daerahil knew that Girnon was correct, for even a royal Prince of Eldora could not supersede another Prince of Eldora in his own fiefdom unless the realm was in immediate danger.
'Well,' said Daerahil. 'We will cross that bridge when we come to it, if we come to it at all.'
'If, Lord?' said Girnon. 'Prince Paladir should be here by daybreak with his hounds and his hunting party.'
'Think, man, think,' retorted Daerahil. 'You have a traitor in your midst; someone whom you say very cleverly falsified the Prince's signet ring and drew me here for some purpose unknown to us. Locate and question any and all men, servants, soldiers, wenches, and the like who could have had access to the Prince's ring.'
'But, Lord, I have told you that he never takes it off. His hand has grown in the years since he first put it on, and now there is no way to remove it; save to cut the ring or the finger.'
Musing for a moment, Daerahil stated, 'If no one could have borrowed it, then we are left with two choices. Either someone copied the ring from an impression in wax, or they used the ring as it lay on the Prince's hand.'
'Lord, you misunderstood me,' replied Girnon, 'for this is a near-perfect forgery. But for the change in the wax, I would have sworn it to be the Prince's own.'
'Certainly someone could have used the signet mark on a different message to make a copy of the ring,' said Daerahil.
'Well, Lord, perhaps,' said Girnon, 'but this is so clear, with such fine details, that it is unlikely.'
'Then tell me how and when the Prince's hand would have been available for this forgery, presuming he did not send it himself.'
Girnon paused, and then stated, 'Ten days ago there was a great feast here, Lord, held by Zarthir in the Prince's honor. I am sad to say that the Prince, who can usually hold his wine with the best of men, became drunk quickly and had to be taken away early in the evening and left to sleep off the wine.'
'Who was with him that night?' asked Daerahil.
'Well, Lord, as you know, the Prince is betrothed to Amadren, daughter of the Duke of Anscomb, and no longer seeks out the company of wenches. But that night a young woman had been asked by Zarthir to see to the Prince's needs if he awoke in the night,' Girnon admitted.
'Can you describe her?' asked Daerahil.
'She was very pretty, Lord. A Shardan woman—small and slender, almost childlike. But Zarthir had three or four women of similar looks, Lord. I could not say which of them attended to Lord Paladir.'
Daerahil thought for a few moments. A tormenting recollection had come upon him. At the same time as this party, Hala had begged leave to depart in order to visit a sick relative in the refugee camps. Daerahil had granted the request. Hala had returned after three days. He had not thought of the matter since then, but now the connection to Zarthir, and the fact that Girnon's description of the woman, however cursory, fit Hala; gave him pause. True, many Shardan joy girls resembled Hala superficially. But even so . . .
'Clearly one of these wenches brought the message and used his signet ring,' Daerahil said at last. 'The question is why; and why tonight of all nights, did someone wish to draw me here?'
'I do not know, Lord,' said Girnon. 'But I will question the soldiers and staff; as you ask.' He bowed and made to go, but Daerahil raised a hand.
'Hold a moment.' Fixing his gaze on Girnon's face, Daerahil gently pushed into the other's mind, looking for treachery or other strong emotions that would betray any plot. But he sensed only Girnon's fear for Paladir and his fear that he would lose his position. Daerahil released him after only a few moments. Girnon staggered, and Daerahil escorted him to a nearby chair, where Girnon began to color with anger.
'I am sorry that I needed to search your mind, but eliminating you as a traitor allows you to search for the truth. Once you are feeling better, please begin your search for anything unusual that would reveal how and why I was summoned here today. My men will aid you now.'
Now, Hardacil returned from alerting the keep and Daerahil bade him send two of Daerahil's personal guards who had trained as scouts, along with the Keep's guard captain with an escort of five more of Paladir's guards to go and find Paladir.
'Girnon, where was the Prince supposed to be hunting today?' asked Daerahil.
'Well, Lord, he should be along the south river road as we speak, due to return tomorrow,' said Girnon his voice tight with anger over being violated.
'Very well,' replied Daerahil. He instructed his men to find Paladir and bring him as hastily as possible back to the keep.
'My Lord,' asked Hardacil, 'shouldn't we depart for the City as quickly as possible for your own safety?'
'I have thought of that, Hardacil,' said Daerahil. 'I deem that I am safer within these walls than on a ride down the road with only a few men while passing through the squatter camps late at night. It may be that whoever caused this message to be sent wanted me to be distracted, dashing for the Citadel only to be caught in the twilight upon tired horses. No, I will stay here for tonight and return to the City on the morrow.'
#
Jerking awake from a troubled sleep, Daerahil rose from his bed. He glanced out the eastern window of the keep and saw the faintest hint of gray above the Southern Highlands. Another morning was about to break upon the realm of Eldora, and Daerahil was no happier for it. Once again, his sleep had been troubled by nightmares, though only disjointed flashes remained. He recalled his brother's gloating face somehow imposed upon the banner of Eldora, his father cursing him upon his deathbed, calling him craven and callow. His nightmares came when they saw fit, encroaching upon the day and denying him meaningful sleep when it was most needed. Daerahil had become accustomed to drinking himself to sleep, though the wine did not subdue the nocturnal horrors completely. Instead they were less powerful, a blurred disquiet instead of the poignant and particular set of terrors they usually provided.
Rising quickly, he was about to put on his robe for his morning ablutions, when he heard feet running down the hall. Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, he reached for his sword and had just drawn it from its scabbard when there was a hurried knock at his door. Lowering the sword slightly, as few assassins would knock before entering, Daerahil said, 'Come.'
Bounding in behind the opening door, Daerahil's two guards—veterans of the eastern campaigns—glanced at him and his sword with a frown, as if to say 'No one could get past us, Lord, but that the whole keep would hear our cries.'
Daerahil had done his best, against his father's wishes, to look after the families of the veterans who had served under his command. Ten years ago, he had quietly set up conservative investments whose income was directed to the struggling family members of the eastern armies. Mergin had discovered Daerahil's plans, revealing them to the king, who sent for him, demanding an explanation. In the Council chambers, Daerahil had his first public disagreement with his father.
'Not enough is being done to care for these men and their families who have sacrificed for the realm, father. You told me there were no funds in the public budget, and I have used my own money to redress this injustice.'
'These men and their families knew the risks. They gambled with their lives and lost. I have no sympathy for them, there has been no “injustice,”' responded Creon.
'Disregarding semantics, I wish to help these people. Since this money is my own, how and why are you be angered at my generosity?'
'Because, my rash son, your personal charity makes us look stingy by comparison,' said the King. 'If you solve their alleged needs, then the clamoring to stop the war will grow and the people will continue to grow restless. If, instead, we protect the safety of Eldora and marginalize these worthless miscreants, we can all rest easier in our beds.'
'Worthless miscreants, Father! Worthless, do you say?' bellowed Daerahil. 'These families have spent the lives of their sons, fathers, and brothers in order to do your bidding. The realm of Eldora is larger and farther afield than ever it was back in the days of old, and it is only your arrogance that demands obeisance from every man south of Aphon—arrogance that exerts a toll upon our country and our people, and which we can ill afford to indulge. Let us instead come to terms with the peoples of the Shardan and the nomadic tribes of Hagar and Azhar, and bring our armies home.'
Rising to his feet, Creon spoke. 'You speak against your King and your Kingdom. For all here know that throughout the ages, whenever the vigilance of Eldora has waned, enemies through our neglect and in our very somnolence have always plotted and wormed their way ever closer to Eldora, biding their time until they are ready to strike.'
'Who, Father?' roared back Daerahil. 'Who can strike? Your father and yourself with the Kings of Kozak have annihilated most of the leadership of the southern lands, taken their children hostage, laid waste their towns and cities. For every enemy of Eldora that you kill, you make three more with your policies. Bring the army home and let our prosperity and generosity speak for us rather than our swords and arrows.'