by Peter Grant
Garath nodded. “I agree.”
“In that case, my lord, will you please commission him in your Baronial Guard?” Owain asked. “He can come with me as a Cornet, and second-in-command of my patrol. If he does well and proves his fitness, when we return, you can promote him to Lieutenant as a reward. I’m sure you and Major Achel can provide him with the further education he needs. What do you think?”
“I’m certainly willing to commission him, if he’s willing to accept it,” the Baron agreed. “We’ll ask him as soon as we finish here.”
“One more thing,” the Abbott interjected. “We already know that the sorcerers were watching us this morning. They would have seen the Earl defeated and arrested by someone their scrying spells could not identify. They will be watching to see when the Earl is sent to Kingsholme. If Garath wears an anti-scrying amulet, plus one for his horse, they will see the Earl’s escort commanded by another blank space in their scrying spells. They are sure to assume that it’s Owain, so they will not expect him to enter their territory, scouting for information. They won’t look for him near their border.”
The Baron slapped his thigh, grinning. “You’re right! I think this combination of plans and assignments makes the best of the situation we’re in.” He sobered. “One thing, though – what if they try to attack him, thinking they’ll be attacking Owain?”
“They did not try to attack Owain when he rode to Kingsholme, then Seahaven, and then all the way back here,” the Abbott pointed out. “I see no reason why they should have ignored him then, but want to attack him now.”
Garath made a face. “I think you’re right, but that doesn’t make me any happier, having to leave the rest of you to have all the fun while I escort the Earl to Kingsholme.”
“At least you get an immediate Captaincy out of it,” his father pointed out. “Your older brother took five years to rise from Cornet, to Lieutenant, to that rank. You may be the youngest Captain in the history of the Border Guard.”
“And of noble birth, too,” Owain added. “You’ll have a lot of the eligible women in Kingsholme eyeing you as potential husband material for their daughters.”
“I’m sure he’ll bear up nobly under the strain,” Major Achel observed archly. Everyone laughed again.
“Just remember what I said to you about the venality of many nobles,” Owain warned. “You’ll run into it before long, I’m sure. You have a choice to make. You can remain the upright man your father raised you to be; but that’ll likely cost you promotions, status and opportunities, because few choose the road of honor. You can always choose to curry favor by becoming more like those who don’t care about such things, but then, you’ll no longer be your father’s son. I warn you now; choose wisely.”
“I’ll do my best,” Garath said soberly. “Thank you for reminding me.”
Achel asked, “You were planning to leave tonight, weren’t you, King’s Champion?”
“Yes, I was, but there’s too much to arrange. We’ll postpone our departure until tomorrow night, so that we can see Garath on his way with the Earl. That’ll keep the Graben sorcerers focused on him, and let us slip away unobserved.”
XVII
It was raining when Owain emerged from the main gate, to find the patrol formed up in two ranks by the side of the road. There were too many horses to parade them in the courtyard, for which he was grateful. He wanted to leave with the minimum of fuss and bother.
The Baron walked by his side, with Major Achel. “It won’t be easy, finding your way through the woods tonight,” the nobleman pointed out gloomily. “The clouds are blocking the moonlight.”
“There are enough members of the patrol who know the country around here, my lord,” his guard commander pointed out respectfully. “I think they’ll have no trouble getting to the border with Elspeth tonight, and crossing over without being seen.”
“I think so,” Owain agreed as they came up to his horses. He hoisted himself into the saddle and adjusted his oilskin coat as he continued, “We’ll ride through the day tomorrow, keeping to the woods and out of sight, before resting tomorrow night. That’ll get us well clear of the castle, and away from the area on which the Graben sorcerers and their patrols are concentrating. After that, we can risk moving through more open areas for short distances.”
“I hope you’re right,” the Baron said. “Come back safely, you hear me? We can’t afford to lose you, King’s Champion – or my patrol.”
“I’ll do my best, my lord.”
Owain saluted the nobleman, his hand across his chest, and the Baron returned the honor. He turned to the newly-commissioned Cornet Maran. “Very well, let’s be on our way.”
“Aye, King’s Champion.” The officer turned to the patrol and called, “Troop! In twos, right face, forward, ho!” There was no bugle call, no guidon to lead them. They would move as silently and as secretively as possible, right from the start.
The Baron and the Major watched as the double file of horsemen disappeared into the night. “I hope and pray the Graben sorcerers aren’t watching them,” the officer half-whispered.
“They’re all wearing anti-scrying amulets, and their horses, too,” his employer reassured him, “and the Abbott said he and his priest-mages would cast a masking spell around the castle tonight. They’re doing that now, in their guest quarters. By the time the patrol passes out from under it, they should be far enough away that their tracks won’t be noticed, and the rain will wash out those they leave behind. We’ve taken every precaution we can.”
“Yes, my lord… but will they be enough?”
The Baron sighed. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Yes, my lord. If they come back safely, our precautions worked. If they don’t…”
The two men turned, and slowly walked back into the castle.
—————
In the ring of stones on the far distant hill, all was silent. The black of night made no difference to the spell-cast darkness that always enfolded the hilltop.
Footsteps hurried up the path between the stones, and halted in front of the five assembled sorcerers. Their spell-sighted eyes watched as the apprentice sorcerer made his obeisance.
“The Earl of Elspeth’s coach covered better than twenty miles today,” he began. “His escort pulled into a copse of trees at last light, and are camping there. Two guards are on duty at all times.”
“Why camp?” one of the five wondered aloud. “Surely it would be more comfortable for them to use the inns along the post road?”
“Probably because they think that fool Elspeth might arrange for some of his men to wait at the inns, and attempt a rescue,” another snorted. “They’ll be less comfortable camping, but more secure.” He turned back to the apprentice. “What news of the King’s Champion?”
“We presume he is with the escort. We cannot see him with our scrying spells, of course, but the same blankness we observed yesterday, during his fight with the Earl, is present among the patrol.”
“Did a gruefell sighting confirm that?” another sorcerer asked.
“No,” the leader admitted. “With the low clouds and heavy rain today, they could not observe over a distance, and it would be too dangerous for them to drop below the clouds. They would be sure to be seen, and we dare not attract any more attention to them. We cannot risk more losses.” The others murmured their understanding. “I shall send out a gruefell patrol as soon as the weather clears, but that may take several days. With autumn drawing in, the rainy season is upon us.”
“What of Brackley Castle?” a fourth member of the quintet demanded.
“After the Earl’s coach and escort departed, our scrying spells revealed only the usual activities for the rest of the day,” the apprentice replied.
“Very well. Return to your duties,” the leader ordered. With another obeisance, the apprentice backed away, turned, and hurried out of the circle of stones.
“What now?” the last of the five demanded. “Must we w
ait on our enemies to act? Is there nothing we can do to disrupt whatever it is they are planning?”
“I have already taken matters in hand,” their leader replied coldly. “I sent word this morning to our senior agent at Elspeth Castle. A gruefell left a message for them this afternoon.”
“But what if it had been seen?” another expostulated. “Think of the danger!”
“I did. The location for our messages there is far enough from buildings that no-one would have noticed, and I used a scrying spell to make sure the area was clear before the gruefell landed. The message told our agent – one of the Earl’s lieutenants – to hire a troop of mounted men-at-arms from among those released from service. He was to choose those with a liking for money, and no scruples. I sent enough gold with the message to ensure their interest. They are to ride like demons, and intercept the Earl and his escort before they reach Kingsholme.”
“But can they get there in time? The Earl has a day’s start.”
“His coach will be restricted to the post road. By riding across country, our troop can make better time, even if it means wearing their horses to a nub. They can buy or steal fresh horses, if necessary. They will reach the position I selected ahead of the Earl, and set up an ambush. I have ordered them to kill the escort, particularly the King’s Champion, and take the Earl into the woods on horseback. Once clear, they are to kill him, and make sure his body will never be found. That will cause consternation in the Kingdom. They will expect Elspeth to start some sort of rebellion. They will be preoccupied, looking for him to reappear at the head of a new armed force. They will concentrate on that, and thus pay less attention to us.”
Smiles broke out on the faces of his colleagues. “That was good thinking,” one praised, and the others nodded their agreement. “How long will it take?”
“The coach will take ten days at least to get that far, so our troops will have nine days to catch up with it. I have ordered our apprentices to focus their scrying spells on the coach, to make sure it does not turn off onto a different road. If it does, I shall find a way to get word to our troop, so they can still catch up to it.”
“But if they are concentrating on the coach, they cannot watch the hills as closely on our side of the border. We cannot send our gruefells there, for fear they will discover what we did to the remnants of the force we sent to attack Brackley.”
“Yes, but we know that Owain is with the Earl’s escort. He cannot be in two places at once. He is the main threat to us, as we have all agreed, so let us make sure he cannot escape us this time.” The other four nodded their agreement as he continued, “We shall use our own scrying spells to watch our troop’s ambush of the Earl. I have told our agent to take the anti-scrying amulet off the body of the King’s Champion after they kill him, so we can see for ourselves that he is dead at last.”
A growl of angry anticipation ran through the quintet. “It is long past time that he died!” one of them hissed.
“It is indeed. Let us hope that his death will be slow and painful!”
“Indeed. Speaking of slow and painful deaths, I have good news from our agents on the Black Coast. It seems one of their pirate vessels captured a priestess-mage of the Order of Netha in Qithara. They were able to take her unawares, so she could not use her powers against them, and bound her with one of the amulets we provided, so that she can no longer use her powers at all. I have dispatched a gruefell to collect her, and bring her back here. At the next new moon, we shall sacrifice her, and bind her soul and her arcane energies to our will.”
A rustle of satisfaction ran around the group. “That is a capture indeed!” one praised. “It is long since we have had another mage in our grasp.”
“Yes – too long. I have paid a large sum for her, to encourage the pirates to seek out more of her kind. It is always entertaining to watch their sort die in slow, unendurable agony.”
—————
Three days later, Owain halted the patrol as the sun sank towards the horizon. He turned to Maran. “Cornet, we’ll halt here to eat. The men can build small, smokeless fires, using only dry fuel, to cook their meal. All fires to be out within half an hour, then we’ll move on for a couple more miles before making a dry, fireless camp. Join me while we eat, and we’ll go over the route for the next few days.”
“Aye, King’s Champion.”
Owain watched in satisfaction as the Cornet swung around and began barking orders. He was adjusting very well to his newly elevated status as an officer. What’s more, the members of the patrol had already known and respected him as their troop sergeant. Apart from a little good-natured chaffing, they’d accepted his commissioning without dissent.
Maran joined him for a quick meal, and they took advantage of the fading light to pore over Owain’s map. “This was drawn up during the Graben Wars,” he told his second-in-command. “It’s probably still accurate. I had this copy made in Kingsholme, a few weeks ago.”
His finger traced the route. “I want to cross the border here, tomorrow. We’ll head into Graben territory through this hilly region. There aren’t any farms or settlements there, because the slopes are too steep to plough, and the valleys are choked with trees and brush. There used to be plenty of game – deer, boar, rabbits and the like – so we should eat well; and there are streams that we can follow in lieu of roads. We’ll have to lead our horses often, rather than ride, because there won’t be enough clearance; but if we’re patient and take our time, we’ll emerge at this spot, in about ten days.” He put his finger on a crossroads. “That should put us within a few days’ ride of a place that I recall hearing about during the last war. It was said by some of the Graben prisoners that it was a place of darkness, where some sort of mysterious evil dwelt. If we’re dealing with sorcery, that sounds like a good place to start looking for it.”
Maran shivered. “I can’t say I like the sound of that, King’s Champion.”
“I don’t either, but we have two priest-mages with us. Their spells will protect us.”
The cornet cheered up at once. “Aye, that’ll make a difference. I’ll make sure to remind the men of it, too.”
“Do that. Tell them there’ll be good hunting ahead, and warn the archers to keep their bows handy. If we go hungry, it’ll be their fault.”
Chuckling, Maran moved away. Owain waited until he was out of earshot, then called over the two priest-mages, who’d bedded down near him.
“I’m worried about something,” he began. “What if Elspeth’s men try to rescue him? Is there any way your arts can find out about that?”
Both men looked dubious. “If they were going to try, they would surely have left by now,” one said. “We would not know where to cast our scrying spells to look for them.”
Owain nodded reluctantly. “In that case, can you send a message from me to the Duke of Gehlen in Kingsholme?”
“Write it on the smallest, lightest piece of parchment you can. We shall use spellcraft to send it to our Abbot in Atheldorn, and he will send it onward to the Mother House in Kingsholme.”
“Good. I’ll write it in the light of dawn tomorrow, and have you send it before we leave.”
—————
Late the following afternoon, the Duke of Gehlen sat at his desk in Kingsholme, carefully re-reading a small scrap of parchment. Owain had written in a very small hand, on both sides of the paper, but his message was still legible.
“Hmmm… he may be right,” the Duke murmured to himself. “It doesn’t seem likely, but we’re dealing with probable sorcerers, so anything is possible.”
He rose to his feet, and crossed to a table against the far wall. He unrolled a map of the area around Kingsholme and began to examine it carefully, concentrating on the area around the post road from Atheldorn and Brackley. His finger traced the route, halting at various points as he closed his eyes and tried to visualize the terrain there, considering potential ambush sites.
At last he was satisfied. He returned to his desk and
rang a small, tinkling handbell. An equerry hurried inside.
“Send word to the Commanding Officer of the Border Guard. I need to see him first thing tomorrow morning. Also, I want an appointment with the Abbott of the Mother House tomorrow. I’m going to need the help of his priest-mages and their scrying spells.”
“Aye, your grace.”
The Duke grinned as he began to tidy his desk for the night. So, the youngest son of the Baron of Brackley was now a Captain in his Border Guard, was he? That promised to be interesting, particularly if his older brother had to leave the Guard to take over the Barony. The Abbott of Atheldorn’s message, containing Owain’s proposal about Elspeth’s successor, had reached him a few days ago. It had piqued his interest – not to mention that of the Council.
“I’ll say this for you, King’s Champion,” he murmured to himself. “Life is seldom boring where you’re involved!”
XVIII
“Scout coming back, sir!”
Owain looked up from where he rode at the head of the short column. He’d sent two scouts ahead, to find the easiest path through the hills. One was now returning at a canter. He reined in his horse, and turned to ride next to Owain.
“Sir, we’ve found the skeleton of a gruefell about half a mile ahead. It’s been there long enough for most of the flesh to rot away, but there’s still some skin and sinews attached to the bones. What’s more, we found a man near it. He’s Graben, but we don’t speak their tongue, so we don’t know how he came there. The gruefell carried a double saddle, so he may have flown on it. He’s badly hurt, sir. Both of his legs are broken, and they’ve healed all wrong. He can’t walk. He’s very weak, sir.”
“Lead us to him. I learned the Graben tongue during the wars. I’ll talk to him.”
As the patrol picked up the pace, Owain pondered. They’d been in the hills for five days, without seeing another soul. Why would a gruefell come here in the first place, particularly with riders?