King's Champion

by Peter Grant

  “You and me both. We think alike when it comes to our enemies – but then, you know that. It’s why we’ve stayed friends all these years.”

  Owain nodded. “You were the toughest troop sergeant in the King’s Bodyguard. I sent more than a few hard-headed soldiers to you, to get some sense beaten into them.”

  “And they gave me a lot of these gray hairs in the process! Let me think a moment.”

  Silence fell as Diava pondered, scratching his chin. At last he sighed. “I’m thinking there’s three parts to this problem. The first is to find out what they were doing. Why did they take Sigurd’s ashes and sword from his cairn? Why did they attack the inn? What do those scrolls say, and why were they carrying so much gold? Until you know the answers to those questions, you’re a blind man groping in the dark. You’ve got to figure out where to look for those answers, which is the second part. The third is to stay alive until you’ve done parts one and two, so you can decide where to go and what to do once you know what’s going on. Am I right so far?”

  “I’d say so.”

  “I think the first step is to get out of sight, not just of gruefells, but also of those dark arts you mentioned. Did it ever occur to you they might have used a scrying spell to follow your movements?”

  “Me? That’s an awful lot of mage power to invest in an old man of no importance! It makes no sense.”

  “Neither does stealing a dead man’s ashes and the shattered shards of his sword, or attacking a broken-down old inn with little prospect of loot.”

  “You have a point.”

  “Aye. Let’s assume the worst – that they used both a scrying spell and gruefells to follow you. What can we do to throw both off the scent?”

  “The only way I know to evade a scrying spell is to use an anti-scrying amulet. That means going to a mage or a priest to get one. They’re not cheap.”

  “No, they’re not – but thanks to those raiders, you can afford a hundred, if you want ’em.”

  “True. There’s another thing. I need someone to translate those Graben scrolls for me. The closest place I can think of where they’ll have scholars who can do that is the monastery of Atheldorn, five days’ journey from here. They have priest-mages there too. I might be able to kill two birds with one stone.”

  Diava nodded approvingly as he refilled their glasses. “Now you’re using your head – and that might be a good place to leave Sigurd’s ashes and sword until you can find somewhere better. They’ll keep them safe there.”

  “You know, that’s a damned good idea!”

  “I do have them from time to time.” They smiled at each other. “I suggest you make it a ten-day trip, and take the long way around through the Wald. The trees are tall and thick, heavily overgrown in many parts. No-one would willingly spend longer than necessary on a trip like that, particularly using forest trails that aren’t well kept up, without any inns to break the journey. By the same token, no-one looking for you is likely to suspect you’ll take that road, particularly if we give out that you’ve gone somewhere else. Even if they do, it’ll be hard for gruefells or a scrying spell to spot you in the thick forest, especially if you hide your camp at night and don’t keep a fire burning.”

  Owain sipped his drink thoughtfully. “You’ve got something there. One problem will be keeping a watch. I’ll need to sleep sometimes. Also, there are bands of outlaws in the forest. If I run into one of them, or if a Graben raiding party comes looking for me, it’ll be hard to fight them off alone. I’ll be far from help.”

  “No, you won’t. I’m coming with you.”

  “Don’t be a fool, man! I may never come back. In fact, I’m seriously thinking about settling my affairs before I leave, just in case. You’ve got a son and a daughter to run the farm, along with their spouses and your grandchildren. You’ve earned the right to enjoy them all in peace.”

  Diava shook his head. “Not for much longer. During the winter, it started to hurt when I piss. It’s getting slowly worse. I went to see the healer priest when he came through last week, while you were away. He told me it’s a growth in the place where your piss collects. He said there’s nothing they can do except give me poppy-juice for the pain. I’ve got three to six months before it will hurt so much I’ll have to take to my bed. The end will come soon after that. We’ve both seen it before.”

  Owain nodded grimly. “We have. I’m sorry, old friend. You deserve better.”

  “Life is what it is. Anyway, I don’t want to end in a haze of poppy-juice, unable to speak or even think, drooling on my pillow and fouling my sheets. I won’t be able to spend a day in the saddle like I used to, but I don’t see why I can’t ride in a cart or wagon, particularly if a certain suddenly-rich man I know buys a fancy cushion or two to put beneath my arse.” They chuckled softly. “If I’m going to die, let me die doing something useful, dammit! If I’m facing enemies, their blood on my blade and a shout of defiance in my throat… what better way for an old soldier to go? Don’t tell me you aren’t thinking the same for yourself, man. I know you too well.”

  “Aye, you do. One question. What happens if the pain becomes too great? I may not be able to stay with you and nurse you, and we may not be near any place that I can leave you.”

  The other hesitated, then said, “I’ll bring some poppy-juice with me. If things get bad while we’re traveling, it should be enough to get me to a place where you can leave me. If that’s not possible, I’ll just have to steel myself to the pain. You and I did that often enough with wounds while on campaign.” Owain nodded wordlessly. “If we make it to somewhere you can leave me, all well and good. If not… I’ll not die mewling in mindless agony. If it looks like it may come to that, I’d prefer to let the blood out of my veins and go like a man.”

  “All right, Diava. I’m not sure whether this is a good idea or not, but I’ll be glad of your company, whatever happens. As a matter of fact, I bought a new light wagon on the way home, with a good team. It’ll do fine for the journey.”

  “You did?” His friend looked suddenly thoughtful. “You know, that may be a blessing in another way. If someone’s been watching you, they’ll know all your horses and wagons at the livery stable. If you don’t take any of them, they’ll see they’re still here and assume you are too. They won’t know about this new one – at least, I hope not.”

  “True. It’s been in the stable since I got back, so I’ll keep it there with its team until we leave. I doubt anyone’s watching me at present. They probably don’t yet know what happened to their raiders. I’ll arrange to pick up some more horses for the journey. Ned will hate being left behind, but he’s getting old – too old for a long, hard journey like this. Still, anyone who’s been watching me will know he’s been my chosen mount for years. If he’s here, they’ll assume I am too.”

  “Makes sense. We can buy more horses when we get to the monastery, too, if need be. There are several breeders near there.”

  “Aye, and I’ve got some ideas to change the way we look while on the road – things that’ll make us harder to identify. I may also be able to get us some help for the journey to Atheldorn.”

  “All right. I’ll say my farewells to the children and grandchildren. I’ll tell them I’m traveling with you to Kingsholme, for a reunion with friends who fought in the Graben War. If you put out the same story, that’ll help deceive people as to where we’re heading – the monastery’s in the opposite direction. I’ve got a few things to put in order, too; bills to pay, that sort of thing.”

  “Do you need any help with that? Remember, the Graben have just been very generous to me.”

  His friend laughed. “I wouldn’t have taken your money, but I’ll take theirs any day! Paying my bills will clean out my savings. If you can spare twenty gold pieces, I’d like to give ten each to my son and daughter. Together with their shared ownership of the farm, that’ll set them up for life. I can leave them with a clear conscience.”

  “You’ve got it, plus traveling money as
well. Tell the children you won a bet or something. Do you want me to bring it to you?”

  “No, I’ll get someone to take me into town in the wagon tomorrow morning. I’ll get them from you then. Will you take care of stocking your new wagon with good food and drink, and get whatever we need to make the journey easier? No sense in being uncomfortable unless we have to.”

  “I will. I’ll put my affairs in order too. What about weapons and armor?”

  “I have my old army sword, but no mail. And you?”

  “I have several mail shirts and knee-length hauberks. Some are war booty, others I bought from veterans who needed the money more than the mementoes of their service. You can try them on tomorrow. I think we’ll be able to find one that’ll fit you. I’ve got bucklers, shields and spears, too. You still use a crossbow to hunt deer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bring it, and extra bolts. It may come in handy.”

  “I’ll do that. I need some good tough field gear and clothing, too.”

  “Buy whatever you want at the store. I’ll tell them to put it on my account. Get more than one of everything important. We may not be able to resupply at will.”

  “Thanks. When do you want to leave?”

  “I’d prefer not to tarry overlong, so as to keep ahead of any pursuit. How about two days from now? I’ll collect you here at dawn. We’ll head towards Kingsholme for half a day, then cut north towards Siricha, then turn east when we reach the edge of the Wald. From then on, we’ll be out of sight of watchers, unless they look very hard.”

  “That works for me.” Diava held out his hand, and Owain grasped it in a firm warrior’s clasp, wrist-to-wrist. “It’ll be good to take the field with you again.”

  “And with you.”

  IV

  It was pitch-black beneath the standing stones. The light of moon and stars could not penetrate the wards that protected this place. The silence was so loud it could almost be touched, the stillness a singing, felt rather than heard.

  It was broken by soft footfalls approaching along the graveled path. A young man stepped into the ring of stones, flipping the hood of his black robe back from his head. His eyes gleamed with a faint red light as he looked around, unhampered by the darkness, and saw his overlord standing at the other side of the circle. He moved towards him, went to one knee, and made obeisance.

  “Rise,” the senior said briefly, his voice an acid hiss. “What news?”

  “Master, I began searching for Prince Ilvan yesterday, as you instructed. I looked in every likely place, but found no trace until I went back to the start of his mission. The cairn had been broken open and the urn and sword were missing, but there was more. The inn at the foot of the valley had been destroyed by fire. A closer scan showed half of the body of a gruefell, badly burned, just outside the ruins, and the body of a horse near the intact stable. The state of decay of the bodies places their death about a week ago. I sharpened my scrying spell and found the remains of a second gruefell, a dog and eight humans among the ruins, all so badly burned as to be unidentifiable. From their positions and the remains of boots, belts and clothing, I think the Prince and his bodyguards killed the innkeeper and his family, then were killed themselves, along with their mounts. It rained for several days in the area, so any tracks had long since been washed away. Furthermore, passing travelers have stripped the stable and the ruined inn of everything valuable, destroying any remaining clues as to what happened.”

  The elder stood unmoving for a moment, incredulity on his face, then spat out a bitter obscenity. “What was he thinking? He was ordered to avoid all habitations! Why did he disobey my express instructions?”

  “I do not know, Master.”

  “What of the urn and sword, and the messages and money he was to deliver to our spies?”

  “There is no sign of any of them, Master, or of the gruefells’ saddlebags. It is possible they were destroyed in the fire, or they may have been stolen by looters.”

  The older man paced back and forth, thinking furiously. When the younger started to speak, he held up a hand, and his subordinate instantly fell silent.

  “Owain!” he hissed at last, fury and frustration in his voice. “It was Owain of the Axe. It must have been! Nobody else was in the area at that time with the skill at arms necessary to overcome, not just the Prince and his bodyguards, but also two gruefells.”

  “That was unavoidable, Master, because there was no-one else who could lead us to Sigurd’s grave,” the other pointed out. “However, he was armed only with sword, dagger and staff for his journey. How could a man so lightly armed defeat even one gruefell, much less two?”

  “One of the Prince’s bodyguards was an arbalestier. If Owain killed him and got his hands on that weapon, with its poisoned bolts…”

  “Yes, but how? He is no mage. He could not have been aware of my scrying spells as I watched him. We ordered the Prince to travel only after dark. He would have reached the cairn long after the Champion had left the area. His gruefells could see in the dark to find their way, but no observer – not even Owain – would have seen them coming in the darkness and rain.”

  The other shook his head. “You are right, but clearly he was warned in some fashion. I fear I know what must have happened. The Prince was well-known for his self-indulgence. He sought to debauch any woman who crossed his path, and to force those who would not submit. It was a habit useful to us, because it led him into our clutches. It was easy to seduce a mind already so bent on seduction. However, it may have been his downfall. He must have decided to get out of the cold and rain, and celebrate the recovery of the urn and the sword by raping the women at the inn. We did not tell him that we had watched the Champion by spellcraft, to locate the cairn – there was no need for him to know that, after all. He would therefore not have anticipated that Owain might be there.”

  “But he was directly ordered to spend the rest of the night and the following day at the cairn, to avoid observation, before continuing his journey the next night. How could he have been so unbelievably foolish as to disobey?” The younger man’s voice was agonized.

  “I suspect that if he was thinking at all, it was with an organ other than his brain.” The senior’s voice dripped vitriol. “However, let us also admit our own error in this matter. We did not want him to realize the importance of the sword; so not only did we tell him to take the ashes as well, we instructed him to deliver money and orders to the leaders of our two spy rings before returning. That would have taken him several days, traveling only at night to avoid being seen. It was designed to make him think that recovering the sword and ashes was only one part of his mission, and not the most important part, at that. If we had told him to bring back the sword and ashes at once, he would have begun his return journey immediately, and this would never have happened.”

  The other bowed, tactfully not pointing out that the man before him was responsible for those errors. “As you say, Master. What are your orders?”

  “Let me think.” He paced to and fro again, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. At last he straightened. “We must assume the worst – namely, that Owain now has the ashes and sword of Sigurd, and the gruefells’ saddlebags with their contents. This has the potential to be disastrous to our cause… but there is still time to remedy the situation. He does not read Graben script, as far as we know, so he will not understand the scrolls; and he can have no idea why we desire the sword. The ashes are irrelevant. We only ordered the Prince to bring us everything in the cairn so he would not realize the importance of the sword, but Owain will not know that. He may waste time trying to find out why we want them, when in fact we do not. Let us hope so, in any event. First, we must find out where he is now. He has had a week to get home – or to disappear.”

  “Master, I looked for him as soon as I located the Prince’s remains. All the horses and vehicles belonging to his livery stable are there, including the steed he rode to the cairn. It’s been his personal mount for almost a
decade. I did not see him personally during my hurried scan, but if his favorite horse is there, he will surely be there too.”

  “That removes one fear from my mind. Where would he be likely to go, to have someone translate the scrolls?”

  The younger man thought quickly. “The closest place with scholars who could do that is the monastery of Atheldorn, but it is far from Kingsholme. In his shoes, I would want them translated by someone in the capital, so he could act at once on any information they contain. He is still the King’s Champion Emeritus, after all, and has the right to see the King at any time. He would surely want to lay any evidence before him, even though the present monarch is weak compared to his predecessor. The capital would also offer many opportunities for him to spend the money, if he has it.” He leered. “He is an old soldier, after all. We know their tastes.”

  The elder slapped him angrily across the face. “Fool! Have you forgotten who we are dealing with? This is Owain of the Axe! He will not waste time on drinking, gambling and whores. If he learns what those scrolls contain, he will act on the knowledge at once – and he will not be content to rely on an ineffectual ruler to do what is needed. As the King’s Champion, he was well-known for doing what had to be done at once, and only afterwards asking permission or forgiveness, whichever was needed. Pray he never learns why we wanted his predecessor’s sword! If he does – if he discovers all we have wrought over the past twenty years in this place – then all our plans, all our hopes and dreams for the resurrection of Karsh, will be in deadly peril. What is more, if we fail the Power that has aided us, it will hold us accountable. You know what that means.” They both glanced over their shoulders at the black stone on the hilltop, and shivered involuntarily.

  His humiliated subordinate stammered, “B–but Master, the Champion has never been known as a man of great intelligence. How could he even begin to guess at affairs of such magnitude?”

  “It is not his intelligence we need to fear. He has two qualities that are far more dangerous. First, his tenacity. He is like a war hound. Once he sinks his teeth into a matter, he will not let go until it is resolved. Second, he is dedicated to the service of the Light. He is not sinless, of course, but he has never fallen so deep into wrongdoing that we have been able to use that against him. His soul is as pure as a warrior’s can be. What is more, he knows his own weaknesses and shortcomings, and is not afraid to ask for help to overcome them. If he cannot understand something, he will seek out those who can, and will not rest until all is made clear.”