by Doug Niles
“Yes, Excellency,” the captains replied dutifully.
“A hasty deployment might lead to mistakes. Even disastrous mistakes.”
The knights remained silent. Reynaud nodded approvingly. Marckus’s eyes were unreadable below his thick bushy brows.
“The princess has announced that she will depart in the morning, escorted by one hundred knights under Captain Powell.”
“Indeed, Excellency,” Marckus replied. “Your own legion, nearly six thousand men, will be ready to march to the east a few hours later.”
“You see. That is what has me worried. I don’t want to send those men willy-nilly in one direction, only to find out that we really need them somewhere else.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, my lord. As of three days ago, we know the ogre horde was in Garnet.”
“They could have withdrawn back into the mountains,” Reynaud observed coolly. “Then the whole operation would be a colossal waste.”
“Correct,” the duke noted. “I think the legion should not march tomorrow. I have decided to wait two more days for more information. You know, so we don’t make a terrible mistake.”
“My lord!” said Sir Marckus, for the first time betraying an urgency in his voice. “Thelgaard and Solanthus are expecting you. They may be hard pressed! The situation is unpredictable!”
“That’s exactly right. These goblins. Well, they’re just evil. And unpredictable. We need to wait and see where they are headed, what they are trying to do, before we commit my legion.” He looked at Marckus out of the corner of his eyes, as if to gauge his captain’s level of resistance. Once again, the knight’s face was an impassive mask.
“Good. Then we’re understood. The legion will march two days after tomorrow.” He frowned, scratching his smooth chin. “That is, unless we need more time after that.…”
The Nightmaster had agents everywhere in Caergoth, from the loftiest noble’s tower to the most miserable dungeon. His spies had told him the galleons of Palanthas were reprovisioning, would leave for home within another day or two. Now came word that the ships would not be carrying their most important passenger.
The priest, shrouded in mist and wearing his masking red robe, stood on the parapet of his secret temple, peering anxiously into the cold light of dawn. The city’s great gate rumbled open, and the Nightmaster watched the long column of riders depart toward the north, starting onto the wide plains of Solamnia. In the middle of that file he clearly saw the Princess of Palanthas.
One of his agents had done his job very, very well.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE RUIN
Where are we?” Dram asked, staggering slightly from the lingering disorienting effect of Coryn’s magic. Sulfie and Carbo hugged each other and looked around in sheer terror, while Jaymes regarded the surroundings through narrowed eyes.
They stood in a tangle of knee-high brush, half-circled by an unkempt hedge. Flagstones marked a path around both sides of the foliage, though creepers and vines now ruled the gaps between the flat rocks, covering some completely, obscuring parts of them all.
They were on a gentle-sloped bluff just above a great river valley to the south and west. In the near foreground, a magnificent stone bridge crossed that river, a span nearly half a mile long boasting a smooth, paved highway that passed very near to their location before descending to the northern terminus. Beyond, on the south side, the highway curved sharply westward, vanishing in the distance.
“Same bridge we crossed,” Dram noted, “not long ago—about two days out of Caergoth. Quite a piece of engineering, it is.”
“It was built by dwarves, you know,” Coryn said. “Back in the days when Solamnia was a true empire.”
“Mighta known, about the dwarves I mean,” replied Dram, pleased. “It’ll stand for another thousand years, at least.”
The warrior stared the white wizard.
“Why did you bring us here?” he demanded.
“I brought you here,” she said. “The others were invited along because it seemed like a better option than staying in the ghetto.”
“Thanks for that,” Dram said with a nod of his head. “How did you know we were in such a load of trouble?”
“Oh, I have friends in court. And in the gutters, as well,” the enchantress added with the trace of a smile.
“I’m not your friend. I want to go home,” Sulfie said, sniffling.
“I’m afraid you can’t, for the time being,” Coryn explained soothingly. “Since Jaymes was found at your house, you would be arrested by the knights as soon as you showed up. At the very least, they would want to interrogate you for a very, very long time.”
That only added to the gnome’s sniffling. Carbo patted her shoulder consolingly as Dram followed Jaymes over to the entrance of the overgrown ring-hedge. A tangle of vegetation covered the ground, with many clumps of wildly colored blossoms. Beyond rose a tall chimney, charred black and bereft of any surrounding structure. A few timbers and beams were distinguishable in the midst of a large area of burned wreckage.
“The gardens have suffered,” Coryn said gently, coming up behind the pair. “They have had no care for more than two years now.”
“What’s that?” Carbo asked, intrigued. The bald-headed gnome strolled past them and right up to the ruin. He picked up a blackened board, scrutinizing it. “Nice carpentry, once. Have to allow for warping of weather. And the fire. Was this some kind of palace?”
“It was the manor house of a Solamnic nobleman. A Lord of the Rose,” Jaymes said quietly. “He died here.”
Carbo nodded, stroking his white beard. “Fire of natural origin—that is, not dragonbreath. Started here in the great room would be my educated guess, then spread out in all directions. It stopped for some reason, before those ends burned up.”
“It started to rain,” declared the warrior grimly. He turned again to Coryn, his expression cold. “Why are we here?”
“I need something, and I think you might know where it is. Lord Lorimar possessed a strongbox, a container of steel marked with his L in filigree. You have seen it, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have seen it,” said the warrior.
“Well, I need that box—or rather, its contents. I thought you might know where Lorimar kept it.”
“What makes you think it didn’t burn in the fire?” Jaymes asked.
“Lorimar told me it was protected—it wouldn’t burn. Maybe you’ll help me find it, if only because I just saved your life …”
With a frown, Jaymes turned to Dram. “See if you can find some digging tools in what’s left of the stable. A pick and a shovel should do it.” He turned back to Coryn. “All right, come this way.”
He led her past the remnant of a stone wall, mostly crumbled, that had once been the front of the great house. They stepped carefully between the litter of partial timbers, including trunk-sized beams that had obviously fallen from a lofty ceiling. Using the chimney as a marker, Jaymes paced off a dozen long strides along the base of a broken stairway. He knelt and brushed away the soot and muck that smeared the floor, clearing several flagstones by the time the dwarf arrived with a solid pick and a short-handled spade.
The warrior took the shovel and wedged the tool under one of the stones. With a powerful push he drove the shovel in then leaned on it to lever the stone loose. Dram pulled it out of the way while the man loosened two more of the flat sections of dark slate, revealing a layer of plaster over the red clay. When the flagstones were removed, Jaymes lifted the pick and chopped until he had broken up the plaster and the hard-packed dirt.
He dug until the tool struck something solid with a metallic clank. Carefully Jaymes scraped away more dirt, digging down around the edges of a rectangular box. When he knelt and brushed it clean, the ornate “L” was visible, even through the rust. Dram helped, using the shovel for leverage, as the man lifted the box.
“Looks like a pretty stout lock,” the dwarf observed.
“I might have
the key,” said the enchantress, adding, “after a fashion.”
Jaymes set it on the raised stone shelf that had once been a hearth, and Coryn, the hem of her white robe already dark with soot, knelt beside the box. She touched a finger to the latch and muttered a soft, sibilant word. A slight spark flashed from the box, and she bent with both hands to lift the lid. It rose up with a creak of rusty hinges, and, looking inside, the white robe cried, “No!”
“Not what you expected?” Jaymes asked caustically.
She stood and stared at him, her lips clenched in a tight, angry line. With one hand she gestured at the box. “It’s empty!”
“What were you expecting?” asked the dwarf, his eyes shifting between the two of them as he peered into the container, feeling around with his hands to confirm Coryn’s findings.
She didn’t answer the dwarf. Instead, she continued to regard Jaymes with her brooding stare. Her dark eyes glinted. “Was this tampered with after the fire?” she asked. “Could someone have dug it up, opened it, then returned it to its hiding place?”
The warrior shrugged. “The soot and debris I cleaned away was like the rubble everywhere else around here. My best guess is no, it hasn’t been disturbed since well before the fire.”
“And the lord was dead at the time of the fire?” she prodded, as Dram eyed them. Both of the gnomes had edged closer, glancing at each other, trying to understand the mysterious conversation.
Jaymes nodded and turned away, rubbing his hand across his face. “He was already bleeding to death when the fire started.”
“Then the contents of the box must have been removed before he died. That tells me something,” the enchantress said.
“What in the name of Reorx is so all-fired important about this box?” fumed Dram.
“It’s called the Compact of Freedom,” Coryn replied, her eyes never leaving Jaymes’s. “Lord Lorimar wrote it and was instrumental in getting it signed. But it bears the imprints of Lord Regent du Chagne of Palanthas, as well as all three of his dukes.”
“Just a mere piece of paper?” the dwarf said skeptically.
“More than that, it’s a promise agreed to by those four nobles: a pledge that Garnet will remain a free city, with none of the orders of knighthood presiding over it. It further limits the powers of the knighthood throughout the rest of the old empire, requiring that every ten years the people must approve the actions of their leaders or they will be replaced by others.”
“Whoa! Du Chagne signed that?” Dram said with a low whistle.
“His arm was twisted slightly. All their arms were,” Jaymes noted. “Lorimar used his stature—he was the only one who could broker the power of the independent merchants, and he convinced the lords that the alternative would be civil war.”
“Let me get this straight. Lormimar was murdered, and this piece of paper is missing—this compact that was in this box?”
Jaymes shrugged. “That’s where he usually kept it. The last time I saw it, I watched him lock it in the box. In fact”—he flashed a look at Coryn—“I helped him bury it. There was more than the compact in the box, too. Something else of great value.”
“The Green Diamonds,” she said. “I’ve heard about them, but are they mythical or real?”
“Real enough, and beautiful, each of them bigger than an eyeball,” the warrior declared. He added for Dram’s benefit, “In gratitude for Lorimar’s loyalty and assistance, the merchants of Solamnia gave him a gift: six unique diamonds, huge, green in color. Lorimar planned to incorporate them into a crown if ever Solamnia united behind a king. The third thing in this box was another sign of that hope: He had a banner made, white silk emblazoned with gold. It depicted all three signs of the knighthood, the crown, the rose, and the sword, all on the same pennant.”
“Sounds like someone figured out what Lorimar was up to and assassinated him,” Dram said slowly, staring at Jaymes. “Probably a good thing—sounds like this Lorimar wanted to be the new king of Solamnia.”
“No. Lorimar was content here,” the swordsman replied. “I believe he wanted to live out his days in peace. Though he did have a daughter, and a marriage to her might have elevated any one of the lords toward that kingship.…”
“What happened to the daughter?”
A long silence prevailed, as the dwarf looked back and forth between his companions. When he perceived they were looking at each other and paying no attention to him, he grabbed the two gnomes and stomped off back to the overgrown garden.
“You need to be a little more careful,” the white robe said to Jaymes, in a low, sympathetic voice. “You took a terrible risk in going to Caergoth. You were lucky I was there instead of in Palanthas. Next time you might not be so fortunate.”
“I had to go there,” the warrior said, his jaw set stubbornly. “I found what I was looking for. But … thanks for your help anyway.”
“Yes, my help,” she murmured.
He took off his glove, showing her the gold ring on the middle finger of his left hand. “It helped me a lot last time I came through Garnet too.”
“I’m glad.” She reached out a hand, brushing the stubble on his cheek tenderly. “I mean it. Be careful,” she said.
“I will. You be careful, too.”
Coryn nodded slowly. Looking at her, Jaymes was reminded how very beautiful she was, with her black hair fanned across the cowl of her hood, perfectly framing an oval face with high cheekbones and dark, mysterious eyes. After a moment the hint of a smile played across her full lips. She leaned forward, kissed the warrior softly. He put his rough hands on her shoulders very gently, as if afraid of dirtying her robe—which had, somehow, once again become immaculately white—and stepped away.
She whispered a word of magic and disappeared.
Jaymes stood by himself for a long time, brooding. Then he took a look around the ruins. His eyes lingered on the hulking remnant of the east wing, where the fire had been halted. The interiors of several rooms were visible, and he looked at one in particular: a chamber draped in ragged, blackened curtains that still betrayed a hint of blue silk material. The near wall had burned away, and the sagging floor barely supported the sodden, rotten remains of what had once been an elegant bed … a lady’s bed.
“Is she gone?” Dram asked, finally coming back from the garden. “Used her magic to disappear, did she? Makes my skin crawl just to think about it!” He shuddered in the common dwarfish aversion to all things magic. “We’re better off without her! Though she did give us a timely exit back there in the ghetto.”
“We’re lucky she bothered,” the warrior said.
“Yeah. Uh, speaking of luck, we’re lucky I went out to the garden just now. I got a good look at the road across the plain, and we have some visitors coming. Fast. Out of the East.”
Jaymes cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes, they’re riders all right, but they’re not coming on horseback,” Dram said. “My best guess is they’re goblins on wolfback. They’re spread out on both sides of the road but they aren’t traveling by highway, they’re moving faster on the grass.”
“What about the gnomes?” asked the man.
“Last I saw they were looking around in that direction,” Dram replied, indicating the shell of the manor’s west wing.
The two companions made their way along the front of the house, spotting the gnomes up in the second story of the ruin, bickering in what had once been a grand hallway.
“Something put out the fire,” Carbo insisted. “Rain wouldn’t be enough, see. I know all about rain. Probably it was a nitrogen-sulfate mix of some kind, designed to retard combustion.”
“No,” Sulfie objected, “you heard them, it burned itself out. See how it got to this stone balustrade, on the big stairs? It just petered out.”
“Poppycock and balderdash!” snorted the male gnome. “The stairs are wood—they would have burned! No, there was some kind of intervention. Perhaps a fire brigade came by and doused the flames.”
“
Fire brigade? Ha, ha! From where? That’s just ridiculous. Maybe the stairs are fire-retardant—like ironwood! Did you think of that?”
“I thought of—”
“Rain.” Jaymes said from below, staring up at the two gnomes.
“Go away!” Carbo snapped down at him.
“I told you what happened: It started to rain,” the warrior continued, his tone flat. “The house was gutted in the middle, but the ends were still standing. It rained hard enough to put out the fire.”
“See!” said Sulfie. “You heard him. Rain!”
“Come on,” said the human, ignoring the two gnomes, who continued to debate. “We’ve got to get out of here—goblins are coming.”
The gnomes hastened down from their high perch, moving precariously along the edge of the half-burned staircase. Once they were safely on the ground, Jaymes pointed toward the back of the once-grand manor and spoke to Dram Feldspar. “You’ll find a shallow ravine just a stone’s throw from the back plaza. Take the gnomes, and wait for me there.”
“Aw, I don’t like waiting. You’re not going to do anything crazy now, are you?” asked the dwarf.
Jaymes shook his head, as Dram led the two gnomes away. Before they were out of sight, the warrior was moving forward at a crouch, concealing himself in the tangle of the overgrown garden, making his way around the hedge until he could see across the plains that extended, flat and brown, toward the eastern horizons.
He spotted the riders immediately, knew that Dram had been accurate. These were goblins riding those huge, shaggy wolves they often used as mounts. Their canine lope was unmistakable as the goblins were borne across the grassy flatland. A quick glance showed him at least two score of these outriders, with a larger column of goblins just beyond. The latter marched on foot but were making good time. All of them seemed to be verging on the ruin of Lord Lorimar’s manor.
Jaymes checked the wind. It was coming from the plains, blowing toward the four companions, so they would not be betrayed that way. The warrior ducked back, watching as the leading goblins drew up to the fringe of what had once been the garden. They dismounted, turning their great wolves free to lope on the plains, while the goblins drew their wickedly curved swords and started into what had once been the rose garden, hacking the blooming branches down as if they were jungle creepers.