King's Champion

by Peter Grant

  Owain shook his head. “That’s by the by, my lord. The question is, what will it take to get things moving? How can we persuade his Majesty to act, or, if he won’t act, to accept a Regency so that his son will act in his stead? I’m told the Crown Prince is more of a man of action.”

  “He is. I think, given more experience and seasoning, he’ll make a good King when the time comes. The question is, will pushing him into a Regency be too much pressure, too soon?”

  “The enemy may not give us the luxury of taking our time, my lord.”

  The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “You’re convinced, then, that danger is very close? That we’ll be forced to act whether we like it or not?”

  “My lord, what would you call an unprovoked attack by upwards of twenty gruefells, and over forty of their Graben riders, leagues inside Avranche’s boundaries? If that isn’t an act of war, then I’ve never heard of one! Furthermore, that wasn’t the only such attack recently, although it seems to have been the largest. There are also those scrolls giving instructions to two spy rings, and the gold intended to fund their operations. I submit there’s more than enough evidence that our enemies’ threat is growing, and further hostilities are to be expected.”

  “But we still don’t know for sure who’s behind these things. The Graben lands have never recovered from their defeat at our hands. They have no King and no nobility any longer.”

  “I beg leave to differ, my lord. The discovery of a Graben prince’s torc suggests that at least some of their nobility are still around.”

  “You may be right, but are they in charge, or taking orders from someone else?”

  “Who else, my lord? We simply don’t know who’s involved.”

  “No, we don’t – and I doubt very much whether I’ll be allowed to send agents into the Graben lands to find out more. The Council will doubtless consider that a ‘provocation’.” The nobleman’s voice was redolent with frustration.

  “That’s because you’re forced to ask their permission by the nature of your office, my lord. Others don’t necessarily labor under that handicap.”

  Owain’s voice was deadpan, his face expressionless, but the Duke looked up alertly. “Meaning you’re going to send people without bothering to ask for permission?”

  “Why, no, my lord. I don’t propose to ‘send’ anyone.”

  The nobleman looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. “I know better than to ask what you mean by that. However, if you should learn anything by any means whatsoever, or from any source, please let me know at once. The monks at Atheldorn can speed your messages.”

  “I shall, my lord.”

  “I’ve lit a fire under my agents to find out more about those spy rings. We hadn’t heard so much as a whisper about them before, but if they were being funded from outside, never needing to raise money locally, that would have given us far fewer clues to their presence. It’s no wonder we haven’t detected them; but with your help, I hope we’ll have them on the run before long. I’ll have my agents spread the word, covertly, that you came here to discuss with me what you learned while questioning the raiders, before you killed them.”

  Owain scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That’s clever, my lord. The spies here can’t know that I didn’t have time to do that.”

  “That’s right. I hope they’ll assume you learned enough to identify at least some of them; and they probably won’t be able to ask their leaders in Graben for guidance. Given the number of gruefells you and Brackley’s men killed, their communications must be disrupted at present. If we can make them panic and run, we can keep watch for people behaving out of character like that. We may be able to arrest at least some of them. You’re on the way to Seahaven, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll be passing through there on my way somewhere else, my lord.”

  “That’s good enough. We’ll give out that you’re going to Seahaven to brief my people there on what you learned, so they can track down the spies in that city.” The Duke’s eyes were alive with malicious glee as he rubbed his hands together. “I hope they’ll run for cover as well. With luck, we’ll disrupt both rings, and round up as many of them as we can. I’ll have them talking in no time. How long will you be in Seahaven?”

  Owain strove not to show his distaste at the methods he knew the Duke would employ to get the information he needed. He knew any protest he might make would be ignored. “Only one night, my lord; and on my return, I’ll be in a hurry as well, to get back to Brackley.”

  “Very well. We’ll make sure your arrival at Seahaven is mentioned in the right quarters. I’ll send messages via the monks, and have my people there start spreading the word even before you arrive. Stop here on your way back to Brackley. I’ll tell you how it went.”

  “I will, my lord, thank you. Ah… what of my request for up to twenty-five appointments to the Border Guard?”

  “Why not simply appoint them to the Royal Guard? You’re the titular Commanding Officer of that regiment, after all, now that you’ve taken up your appointment as King’s Champion once more.”

  “Yes, my Lord, but I’m the focus of a lot of attention right now. If I make those appointments, they’ll be noticed. People will wonder why I made them. I’d prefer to keep them quiet for now. As the noble responsible for the Border Guard, you can keep appointments to that regiment from becoming known – at least for a while.” He chuckled dryly. “Of course, that may not last very long, if matters proceed as I suspect they might.”

  “If you’re up to something, yes, I daresay those involved will soon be as well-known as you are. Very well. I’ll approve the appointments you requested, with a Captain in command and a Lieutenant as his second. You’ll have commissions and warrants for all those positions by this evening, with authority to fill them with persons of your choosing. I’ll cut orders assigning them to your personal service for up to six months. After that, or earlier if you no longer need them, they’re to report here for reassignment. They won’t be entered on the regiment’s rolls until they get here – backdated, of course, to the date you appointed them.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.” Owain stood. “I must be about my business. I leave tomorrow morning. I think…” He hesitated, then sighed. “My lord, if my suspicions are well-founded, I fear you’ll be hard put to it to safeguard the Kingdom. I hope and pray the Council will see the need for action before it’s too late to take it.”

  The Duke rose to his feet. “At least I’ll be able to rely on your support, although I know you don’t approve of my methods. We’ll just have to convince the Council, even if the truth sticks in their craw.”

  “I’ll do my best to get you evidence of that truth to lay before them, my Lord. That’s why I wanted those appointment warrants from you. They’ll be a big incentive, to help me hire the quality of men I need. Some of us, at least, should survive to get it to you.”

  The nobleman regarded him narrowly for a long moment, then nodded. “You’ll do what you believe to be necessary, I know, whether you have permission or not. I suppose I should officially caution you against that, but I won’t, because you’re right. We’ve got to know.”

  XIII

  As the sun began to peer over the horizon, Owain rose from his bedroll, stretched, and looked out carefully from beneath the sheltering trees. He could see nobody, but knew that was no guarantee of security. Twice since leaving Kingsholme, and once since leaving Seahaven, he’d spied small, far distant black specks in the sky at dawn and dusk. From their persistence and slow movements, he was sure they’d been gruefell patrols, looking for anything of interest. That was why he’d spent the last two days traveling through the edge of the forest, rather than on the open road. He didn’t want others to know where he was going, and be able to spy on him there.

  He grinned to himself. He and the others from Atheldorn had been protected by amulets ever since their departure, so scrying spells could not have found or followed them; and the spy rings in Kingsholme and Seahaven appeared to have scatt
ered in panic when the Duke’s carefully-planted rumors had reached their ears. He doubted whether the Graben had yet found out why their agents’ reports had suddenly dried up. After losing so many gruefells at the inn and in the forest battle, the unknown spymasters almost certainly couldn’t afford to lose any more. Risking them in this fashion showed how desperate they must be for information.

  He chewed on a hard, tough piece of dried meat as he saddled his horse. He traveled slowly and carefully during the morning, building a small, smokeless fire from tinder-dry fuel at midday to heat water and make a nourishing broth. He measured some oats into a nosebag and tied it to his horse’s tack while he ate, smiling as the animal tossed its head in an attempt to reach the last few grains. Appetite sated, he sat with his back against a tree, lit his pipe, and sipped at his water-bottle as he looked at a small, upthrust hump of land in the distance.

  “That’s the place,” he told his horse, speaking quietly, reflectively. “I wonder if they’ll be there tonight? I’d better tether you well away from the hill, and move in on foot. I don’t want you taking fright and running off. I’d hate to have to walk back to Seahaven, like the last time I was here!”

  —————

  That night, he waited until, faint in the distance, he heard the same music he remembered from his last visit to this place. Rising, he patted his horse. “Stay in peace,” he told it softly. “There’s nothing here to threaten you, or disturb your rest.” The animal snorted amiably at him as he disappeared into the darkness.

  He walked around the mound, staying well clear of it, until he saw again the hillside turn transparent in the moonlight, appearing to gape open. The same building was visible, its pillared portico casting shadows from the bright lights within. Owain stopped, took his battle-axe from his back, and laid it on the ground at his feet; then he sank down on his haunches, waiting. He had no doubt his presence was already known to those inside.

  Sure enough, it took no more than a few moments before a voice behind him said, “I see you have returned, young man – but you are no longer young.”

  Owain rose slowly and turned, bowing to the old man he remembered so well. “I fear not. The years have caught up with me.”

  “More than the years. The scars on your face and forearms speak volumes. Has my axe served you well?”

  “It has, and the cause of Light as well.”

  “And the sword and dagger? Have they served your friend well, too?”

  Owain hesitated, sadness shadowing his face and voice. “I wear his dagger at my hip now. I am deeply sorry to tell you that his… his sword broke in his hand during a battle many years ago. He was killed. I recovered his body, and had the priests say the prayers over his pyre, and buried his ashes with the shards of his blade.”

  The old man nodded slowly. “I warned you; our weapons will not protect their bearers if they give in to the temptations of darkness. I fear your friend must have done so.”

  “Yes, although no worse than many others I have known.” Owain sighed. “I loved him greatly, and married his widow after his death. Both of us feared for his soul, because of your warning. She is dead now, so I suppose she already knows his fate. I’ll likely find out myself before too long.”

  The other’s eyebrows rose. “You have forebodings?”

  “Yes. I’ve felt in my bones for some years that evil is gathering. Over the past few weeks, I’ve had strange nightmares about a shape, a lump, of darkness, from which countless eyes stare out at me through whirling flames of despair.” He described how they had begun on the night of the fight at the inn, and recurred occasionally since then. “I don’t know what the dreams mean, but they can portend nothing good. I fear evil grows daily stronger.”

  The old man’s gaze was suddenly sharp, penetrating. “What has caused these visions?”

  Owain explained how Graben raiders had stolen Sigurd’s ashes from his cairn, as well as the shards of his sword. “I can think of no reason why they would have done that, unless they needed them for some dark ritual.” He went on to describe the mysterious, ghostly arms that had emerged to pick up the bodies of the sorcerers in the forest. “All these things, plus my dreams, warn me that something evil is stirring – something more than just a mortal enemy.”

  “I agree.” The old man’s voice betrayed his tension. “Your friend’s ashes are of no consequence. Once the soul leaves the body, it is like the chrysalis left behind by a butterfly. It no longer contains anything of spiritual importance. The shards of his sword, though… if dark sorcerers learned we had enspelled his weapon, they might seek to break the spells, gathering the forces released in their breaking, using them to bind his soul and others in spiritual chains of adamant. That would yield great power to them.” He fell silent for a moment, then murmured, almost as an afterthought, “I thought we had eradicated that foulness before we died.”

  “I – I do not understand.”

  “An age and an age ago, we had to deal with an ancient evil. It was old even before our time, fueled by the souls of those who had fallen into sin, but not so greatly that they were condemned to eternal fire. Some were trapped by evil before they could be cleansed, and thus enter into Light. Instead, they were chained to the earth, their anguish harvested to fuel their captors’ sorceries. The more souls they bound, the greater their power became.

  “We moved against those sorcerers and the city they had built. Their altar, within which they held captive the souls they had bound, was hidden deep inside a temple, perched on the side of a black mountain. We laid siege to their city for seven years, encircling it ever more closely, warding off their sorcerous attacks with the power of the Light. At last we broke through their walls and fought our way towards their temple; but before we could reach it, a cataclysmic explosion reduced it to rubble. Its ruins sank into the mountainside, and were lost forever – or so we thought. We believed that the Dark Altar had been destroyed; but if you have dreamed those dreams, and someone tried to steal your friend’s sundered sword, and those strange arms recovered the bodies of those two robed men… taken together, they may be signs that this evil has returned.”

  “What must I do to fight it?”

  “Wait here. I shall return.”

  The old man strode towards his ancient home, taking the steps two at a time and disappearing through the doorway. Owain stood, waiting. The music faltered, then stopped, and a profound, brooding silence fell over the place.

  At last the old man emerged once more. A woman walked down the steps beside him, her hand in his, her face showing her years, but still strong and attractive. Her long, flowing hair was white with age, held back from her forehead by a circlet of silver. She wore a gold chain over her white robe, suspending a glowing amber amulet on her chest.

  “This is my lady wife,” the old man announced as they drew near. “She was – and is forever – a priestess of the Light. She was one of those who held off the spells of the sorcerers.”

  “Tell me what you told my lord husband,” the woman commanded, her voice quiet, but firm, her eyes fixed on him almost hypnotically.

  Owain obeyed, telling his story once again. The two exchanged glances as they listened, and he could see their grasp grow tighter, as if they were drawing support from each other.

  As he finished, the woman nodded slowly. “I cannot think it is anything else but the Dark Altar, returned to haunt the earth. How it survived, I know not; but what you have described is too close to some of the things we remember to be anything else.”

  “But if you could not destroy this thing and its sorcerer servants, even with all your powers, what hope have we?” Owain asked.

  She was silent for a moment, looking him in the eye. At last she nodded. “I think, if there be anyone who can face it, it will be you. You have fought for the Light, and remained true. The darkness has tested you most sorely at times, but it has not left its mark on you. Few have strength of will so great as not to succumb to that.” She sighed deeply. “Our son wa
s one such. My lord husband told me that is why he first spoke to you.”

  “Was that the young man I saw lying on the steps of your portico, the first time I came here?”

  “It was,” the old man nodded. “He was killed in the moment of victory, even as he slew the greatest of the sorcerers arrayed against us in the city. We mourned him, but were grateful that his death was the occasion of so great a triumph for the Light.”

  “I should have liked to have known him.”

  “Perhaps you will, one day,” the lady said. “However, there is something more. We, the priests and priestesses of Light, prepared this during the seven years of our siege of the sorcerer’s city.”

  She drew from the folds of her robe a small, finely-stitched red leather pouch, suspended around her neck by a silver chain. Opening it, she took out a glass ampoule, filled with a glittering liquid. It shone almost too brightly for the eye to bear, yellow-gold, silver and white threads swirling inside it in a flickering riot of light. A smaller silver chain was attached to it, long enough to loop around her fingers.

  “Day and night, this lay upon our altar. We prayed around it in relays, never leaving it unattended. It became charged with the power of the Light, the most potent weapon against the Darkness that we could devise. In the final assault, we entrusted it to our Champion – our son. He would have used it as a ward against evil, to enter the sorcerer’s dark temple; but that was destroyed before he could reach it. We found it, intact, on his body after he was killed. I brought it back here when we returned from the war. We placed it in the inner sanctum of our household temple. It has never left there since then, until this night. I felt led to bring it when my husband called me.”

  She returned the ampoule to its pouch and closed it. “I think, if you are to confront the same evil that our son would have confronted, you should have this.” She took the chain from around her neck, and held out the pouch. “With it, you may penetrate barriers of darkness that would bar anyone else. In extremity, it will be a source of power and strength to you like no other. It is charged and filled and imbued with holiness. No matter how great the darkness, it will shine brightly enough to overcome it, for a moment at least.” She hesitated. “In the last extremity, if you face a dark enemy so strong that it seems the end has come… use this. Do not waste it.”