by David Pauly
Mergin gestured, and a pair of guards dragged a woman into the Throne Room. Daerahil gasped, and flinched as if forcibly struck.
Loud murmurs and exclamations went up on all sides, and Alfrahil felt a mounting sense of pity and disgust in his heart. The woman was his brother's Shardan mistress, Hala. She had been brutally beaten and was able to stand only because of the two guardsmen gripping her arms, one on either side. She seemed unconscious, though her face was so battered that Alfrahil could not tell whether her eyes were open or not.
'Hala!' howled Daerahil in apparent agony.
Mergin continued with palpable venom in his voice, 'This Shardan whore was also involved in Zarthir's conspiracy and stands guilty as well of violating the racial purity laws of Eldora. While you, Captain Daerahil, cannot be punished for her actions, she certainly shall be. She shall be exiled to her homeland, where she shall serve as a general whore to the patrol that leaves for Shardan today.'
With a cry of rage, Daerahil leapt toward the smirking Mergin, knocking his two escorting guards out of the way. Reaching Mergin, he raised his fist and was about to strike when two Shadows grabbed him by the arms and him dragged away. Daerahil then brought his mental powers to bear, delving into Mergin's mind to cause as much pain and damage as possible, but he was thwarted by his father's mental powers, which deflected Daerahil's blow up into the gallery above. A shriek and a thump were distantly heard by Daerahil as a minor nobleman toppled onto the crowd below, provoking complete pandemonium.
Mergin hissed, 'Your little brown friend will pay for your sins in your stead; Captain. I just thought you should know her fate before you left.'
Daerahil slumped in the arms of the Shadows, and Mergin, drawn by this apparent weakness, came in close to gloat. As he did, Daerahil lashed out with one foot. His heel struck the inside of Mergin's right knee, causing it to snap like a twig. As Mergin stumbled forward, Daerahil brought up his other foot, which impacted squarely between the minister's legs. Screaming and collapsing into a retching heap on the floor, Mergin was suddenly no longer smiling.
One of the Shadows drew a knife, and Daerahil knew his life was measured in seconds. Using his mental abilities to confuse the Shadow, Daerahil looked for an escape, but before he could act, Creon's voice thundered, 'Hold!'
Striding down from his throne, the King ordered that Mergin be carried to the Healer Hall. He then ordered everyone but his sons and the Shadows to clear the room.
Approaching Daerahil, Creon struck his son across the face with the back of his hand. 'I cannot believe that after all of the leniency shown to you today, you would violate the sanctity of this trial. Your exile is a fitting punishment for your actions. Your treacherous companions, including this whore, deserve their fate.'
Daerahil cried out, 'Sanctity, Father? Sanctity? You bring me here and publicly humiliate me in front of the entire realm, arrest good and honest men for simply associating with me, and violently desecrate and sentence the woman I love to a fate worse than death. Sanctity? The only thing you hold holy is your insufferable self-love. If your father were alive today, he would deny that you were ever his son, for no ruler of Eldora has ever treated its citizens as foully as you have this day.'
'Silence,' thundered Creon, 'or your punishment will be far greater than it already is.'
'Greater?' cried Daerahil. 'What then would you do, burn my servants alive in front of me before you place my head upon a spike on the outer wall for all to see? Perhaps murder random innocent children and claim them to be seditious, too? Your hatred of all things Southern has unbalanced your mind! You still have not reconciled the death of my mother from a Southern plague. She was only trying to help them, Father! The unfortunate families that your policies have brought to such a state! But for your wars of madness and love of conquest, the refugee camps would never have been created in the first place. The overwhelming poverty would never have existed, compelling Mother to try and help them in any way she could. If you had provided them some basic comforts, then the filth and garbage that piles up there would never have spawned that deadly plague that killed most of the refugees, my mother, and so many others. Release your hatred, Father, for my sake, the sake of the soldiers, the realm, and, most importantly, for yourself. Release it before it is too late.'
Responding in a guttural whisper of rage, Creon said, 'I will pretend that your actions and your words are triggered only by the fate of your brown woman, that you were so besotted by her filthy charms you cannot think clearly. Never discuss your mother in my presence again, for her death was caused by those foul people who did not have the good sense to be loyal to Eldora. It is only my own mercy that keeps me from driving them into the deep desert to perish from hunger and thirst. Perhaps after your time in Plaga Erebus you will begin to appreciate the North a little more. Speak no more words, or your exile shall be permanent.
Speaking to the Shadows, Creon said, ‘Take him to his apartments and see that he stays there with no visitors until the morrow. At first light, have him escorted out of the City with the new guard company until he reaches the river.'
Gesturing disdainfully and turning his back upon his son as the Shadows dragged him from the room, Creon addressed Alfrahil. 'Alfrahil, return to the Citadel and resume your normal duties tomorrow, but speak not to me of what has happened here. Now go—I wish to be alone.'
Seeing that there was nothing that he could do, Alfrahil bowed and left the chamber, following his father's will to the last. Once in the hallway, revulsion overwhelmed him and sent him staggering into the small room he had occupied the day before. Calling for wine and food, Alfrahil sat in shocked silence.
His brother was certainly impolitic in his dealings, particularly with his assault upon Mergin, but the enormity and indignity of the punishment of his brother astounded him. Banishment was the traditional punishment for royal family members who were convicted of Sedition. But the stripping of his rank and authority went well beyond tradition. The arrest of Minister Zarthir and Fafnir on the merest suspicion that they were bound up in this mess was even more startling.
Finally, what had been done to that poor girl, a beautiful but harmless joy-girl, was unforgivable. He had once seen her at a party thrown by Zarthir to which he had been invited. Indeed she had been lovely, moving with sensuality and an intriguing smile that hinted at her considerable charms. To see her reduced to a shattered hulk in an act of petty vengeance struck him as a crime more deserving of punishment than anything Daerahil had done.
'My father has gone too far,' he thought. 'Whether he likes it or not, I will mention it to him the next time we speak. And I will try to get a letter to my brother stating my greatest apologies and offering what aid I can. At least I can supplement the food supplies he will receive in Plaga Erebus. And perhaps I can do something for that poor girl.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: EXILE
Daerahil spent the rest of the afternoon and evening within his private apartments, with guards and Shadows keeping watch outside the door. Inside, all was kept as normal as possible by his servants, but they had been told that they were to remain in the City during his exile and prepare for his eventual return. Realizing that this was his last night with good food, excellent wine and a soft bed, Daerahil made the most of it, enjoying roasted beef with an excellent wine sauce, the last of the spring vegetables, new potatoes, and a cheese course. Then he quite purposely got drunk on some of the finest wine in his cellar. Dark thoughts overwhelmed him and he mentally raged against his cowardly brother. His only smile came when he thought of Mergin. Daerahil had trained long and hard with the Shadows during his years in Shardan and he knew exactly how and where to place his feet. If Mergin ever walked without a limp on his broken knee, Daerahil would be surprised. Moreover, after crushing his manhood with his other foot, Daerahil would be shocked if Mergin could ever function as a man again. The minister would not soon forget the results of his last attempt to spite the prince.
Blackly, he thought of poor Hala and her
fate, raging at his inability to do anything to save her. Once again he ran the variables over in his mind, but he could think of no way to escape from his rooms, much less rescue her from the departing troops dispatched to Shardan. He could only hope that she could find a way to end her life before she endured more of the horrible abuse that had already been heaped upon her. Yet at the same time, he wanted her to live, so that one day he could be with her again. The grief and anger was too much to bear, and he slumped down at the edge of the table, tears of helpless rage streaming down his face.
Now all he could do was go to bed, as the wine had made him very unsteady on his feet. While it had given him no joy, it had at least brought oblivion a step nearer. Rising, he stumbled toward his bed chamber.
#
A loud banging on the outer door was answered by the loud banging of a Dwarven gong within his head. Daerahil rolled to the edge of his bed and was violently sick all over the floor, even as Marda entered the room and told him that he had ten minutes to dress for his journey. On any other day she would have admonished him for his lack of control; today she simply held out a vial of brown liquid and a large glass of water. Holding his nose and downing the hangover remedy with a grimace, Daerahil immediately consumed the water as well.
'Once your Lordship is dressed, I have persuaded the guard sergeant to allow you a few minutes for breakfast,' Marda said softly.
Muttering that he had no appetite, Daerahil quickly dressed in the captain's tunic that had been provided for him and slipped the simple coat of rings over his head. Seeing there was fresh orange juice and fruit, he consumed them quickly to ease his transition from screaming misery to grumpy headache and mild nausea by noontime.
He thanked Marda for making his journey already a little easier.
'You will find everything in order upon your return, my Lord,' said Marda, wiping a tear from her eye.
Alfrahil was too overcome with emotion to do more than nod stiffly. He turned to the door, which was opened for him by another servant. He strode out and instructed the army guards who stood there alongside the Citadel guards to grab his gear and his baggage and have it placed upon the pack horses. Pausing as if to disobey the prince, the guard sergeant ordered his three men to grab the luggage and proceed to the road.
The sergeant's face was one of thinly veiled contempt, and, seeing that he might as well address this issue now before it became too widespread to control, Daerahil beckoned the sergeant over and said to him in a voice that all present could hear, 'While we both know that I am demoted to guard captain and no longer have my princely authority, rest assured that I will have my rank and privileges back three months from today, and if you have any desire to avoid a permanent reassignment to the Azhar frontier as a latrine orderly, then you had best wipe that smirk off your face and follow my orders as if the king himself were standing here in front of you.'
The color drained from the sergeant's face, and he stammered out, 'Y-yes, Lord Prince. My apologies, I simply thought—'
'Yes, you thought, which was your first mistake, acting upon it was your second. Leave thinking, much less acting upon thoughts, for your betters, or next time I won't be so lenient,' said Daerahil.
Marching with as much dignity as he could muster, he approached the blindingly bright light of a late spring morning in Eldora. A troop of horses was drawn up in front of his house; he was astonished to see Hardacil among them, who pursed his lips, offering only a long wink. Decimated by alcohol, Daerahil retained just enough sense to remain silent, knowing he would find out the truth from Hardacil later. Gingerly settling into the saddle of the handsome bay horse provided for him, Daerahil led the mounted soldiers down the streets of the City. Arriving at the great gates of the City, Daerahil was confronted by the Gate Captain, who unrolled a scroll with formal red handles and gold parchment, and read in a loud voice.
'Prince Daerahil, your exile is permanent; but after three months you may petition the King for permission to return. You must surrender your purse to me, enjoying only things a guard captain may afford, and live on official rations. Fail to obey and you will be brought back to Eldora in chains. Do you understand?'
'They have taken my rank, not my wits,' grumbled Daerahil. 'Of course I understand.'
Extending his hand for the purse, the captain said, 'Do not fear, Captain. You shall have this money back upon your return.'
With a sigh, Daerahil handed over his purse heavy with gold and silver coins. In return he was given a much smaller purse that he suspected contained mostly copper coins. As he rode under the great arch, cheers erupted, sparsely at first, but rapidly growing from the tops of the wall as the soldiers of the City snapped their spears to their sides and removed their helmets, cheering their former prince. Many of them were Southern veterans who had rotated back home for a rest from combat. Daerahil paused and, drawing his sword, saluted the soldiers of the walls as he saw their officers frantically trying to get them to be quiet.
#
The company arrived at Estellius just after noon, where Daerahil ordered an hour's pause to eat and rest. Then they were off again.
As the afternoon wore on, Daerahil saw a small group of Elven horsemen riding toward them as they approached the Crossroads. Keeping his men to the right side of the road, Daerahil snapped a salute as the Lesser Elves drew close enough to be recognized.
Returning the salute, the Lesser Elves did not pass but stopped their horses. The leader of the group, a tall Elf whose dark hair streamed nearly to his waist, said, 'Hail, Daerahil, Prince of Eldora. I am Hilforas. I have urgent news for you.'
Daerahil replied, 'I no longer have the rank of prince. I have been stripped of my royal title, privileges, and authority and am now but an ordinary army captain.'
'My message is indeed for you, Prince Daerahil, no matter your current rank. Please ride ahead with me to receive the news.'
Knowing the Elven predilection for secrecy in the simplest of things, Daerahil rode a furlong ahead of his men with the messenger and said, 'Is this far enough, or should we ride all the way to the Northern forest?'
'No, Lord, this is far enough. I am bid to tell you that you are invited to a meeting with Lord Ferox, Elf lord of Ackerlea, tonight, and that he greatly desires to see you again.'
'My duty prohibits me from tarrying on my way,' Daerahil said.
Smiling, Hilforas said, 'Why don't you and your friend Hardacil take two horses out through the east gate after sunset? I believe that even a simple captain of the army has the right to come and go as he pleases. I will escort you to our nearby encampment to take you to Ferox, and we will have you back long before dawn so that none of your soldiers or the men of the Crossroads will be the wiser that you have feasted with us.'
Normally, Men did not shy at traveling on the roads after nightfall, but in East Ackerlea, with Plaga Erebus and its ancient memories and terrors so near, it was a brave or desperate man who traveled the roads at night. Shapes could still be seen moving on moonlit nights in the foothills of the Odina Maura, and men, both singly and in small groups, had been taken from the road, never to be seen again. Even large companies had scouts or stragglers taken at night, and all of them had vanished without trace. Legends said that Mountain Giants, Werewolves, or other unnamed horrors were responsible. Many times since the end of the Great War, Men, Dwarves, and even Elves had sought out these nocturnal predators. Each time they had found nothing besides moonbeams and harmless shadows. But always there was the lurking presence of evil, just out of reach and out of sight, on what was known as the “Haunted Road.” Regardless, Daerahil knew that he was fated to take this road, and he was curious to see if the legends were true. Now, after accepting the invitation of Hilforas, he returned to his men and led them toward the Crossroads, where they would spend the night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: SHADOWS OF SHADOWS
Daerahil arrived at the Crossroads an hour before sunset and had his sergeant see to the quartering of the men. Once, long ago, the Crossroads
had been just that: a meeting of two roads surrounded by woods. Today the Crossroads had grown into a vast encampment of soldiers' barracks, guardhouses, merchant quarters, taverns, and the like. The Crossroads were surrounded by a high wall and a dike with guarded gates at the four entrances. The barracks were laid out against the inside circumference of the walls. Quarters and small stables for officers were stationed halfway between each quarter circle, so that what peace and quiet existed within the walls would not be disturbed by road traffic. Inside the ring of barracks were the inns, taverns, merchant shops, warehouses, granaries, and other buildings not directly concerned with the maintenance and supply of the troops that either passed through or were stationed there.
While two soldiers bore his gear to a nearby officer's barracks, Daerahil sent Hardacil to arrange for two additional pack animals to carry additional supplies and then to join him at the Four Roads, the best inn inside the Crossroads. Daerahil registered with the local guard commander as required of any captain. The young commander, superior in military rank to a captain, returned Daerahil's salute stiffly and promptly, then asked if the prince had any special needs he could attend to.
'Nay, lad,' replied Daerahil. 'I have been here before; I just need quarters for myself and my aide-de-camp, Hardacil.'
The captain showed Daerahil to the best room within the barracks kept for visiting captains. Gray stone walls surrounded a tiny chamber, barely ten feet by eight feet, which contained a narrow cot on which lay a thin reed mattress covered by a crude cambric sheet, with a straw-filled pillow. A small chipped washbasin lay on a wooden table crammed against a flimsy pine wardrobe on the wall opposite the bed. A heavy tin pitcher and mug completed the rude furnishings of his temporary home. To Daerahil, it smacked more of a prison cell than an officer's quarters, and he began to see how difficult it was going to be to not only give up his rank and power but all of the privileges and comforts that had gone along with it.