by Peter Grant
“Understand, then, that some things are necessary for the good of the Kingdom. They may not be very palatable, and sometimes they may not be very moral, either. The death of the Earl of Elspeth was one such. If he’d remained alive, he’d have become the center of dissent in the King’s Council. The nobles opposed to our efforts to defend against Graben aggression would have embraced his cause. They would have accused people like myself, the King’s Champion, and your father, of deliberately turning against him because he was opposed to our position on the matter. We can’t have that. We must be united, and we must act now, before it’s too late. The Earl’s death removes a bone of contention, and opens the way towards a solution to our problems. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your grace… but the King’s Champion would tell you that, if we murder our opponents, we’re as bad as the Graben.”
“In one sense, perhaps some of us are,” the Duke admitted, to Garath’s surprise. He’d expected denials. “Owain has always been a straight-up-and-down sort of man. It’s what makes him the example he is to the people. I’m not like that. I do what I see as necessary to carry out the duties assigned to me. If that involves things that are unpleasant, perhaps against the law, even immoral, that is less important to me than ensuring the survival of this Kingdom, no matter what. Elspeth’s previous actions in your father’s Barony, and his latest attempt to raid it, showed that he was an active threat to our stability. I have now removed that threat.” His voice was ice and steel.
Garath opened his mouth to say something, but could not find the words. Ignoring his confusion, the Duke went on, “If you make it necessary – which I strongly advise against, for your health’s sake – then I’ll deny ever having said that. I’d already persuaded almost half the Council that Elspeth should be removed from his post, and your father elevated to the Earldom, handing over the Barony to his oldest son. After Elspeth’s tragic death, I’ve no doubt enough of the others will fall into line that we’ll be able to ram that through within the week.”
“When my father learns of this morning’s events, he may not be willing to go through with your plans, your grace.”
The Earl rolled his eyes. “I don’t intend to ask his opinion of them, and it’s too late for him to do anything about them. I require him to obey, not quibble!” He sighed in exasperation. “You’re young. That means you’re still an idealist. Such nonsense will soon get knocked out of you by the harsh lessons of reality – and if it doesn’t, you won’t make a good officer. If you doubt me, ask your father. You’re right, he won’t like it, but he’s learned to be pragmatic. He’ll accept the necessity of what happened here today – at least, he will after the fact, even though he might have objected to it before it happened.”
“I… yes, your grace.” Garath swallowed his objections, which he knew would do no good at all. He reminded himself of Owain’s warning about what service in the Border Guard might entail. The Duke was obviously a prime example of what the King’s Champion had meant.
“Good. Now, let’s get down to business. I’m sending Major Warracker with his squadron of horse to support your father, first in his Barony, then, in a couple of weeks, when he takes over the Earldom. I’ll send you back with the Major. Despite your rank, you aren’t yet ready for all its responsibilities. You need seasoning, and the Major will provide it. At the same time, your local knowledge will help him keep an eye on the district, and ensure we aren’t taken by surprise by another Graben incursion.
“When your older half-brother takes over the Barony, I’ll use the opportunity to send more of the Border Guard with him, enough to form a full battalion, shared between Brackley and Elspeth. They’ll patrol the border, and send scouts as deep as possible into Graben lands to keep an eye on them. Major Warracker’s squadron will become part of the battalion, of course. You’ll be with him for at least a year. At the end of that time, he’ll report to me on your state of training and experience, and we’ll discuss your future in the Border Guard.”
Privately, Garath knew he didn’t want to stay in a unit where he might be called upon to assassinate a perceived enemy of the Kingdom, without benefit of trial; but he knew he could not say that to this man – at least, not yet. He settled for a crisp, “Aye, your grace.”
“Remember, the Earl’s death was the result of an ambush by outlaws. That’s literally true, after all; and it’s all that ever needs to be said about it.”
“Ah… aye, your grace.”
The Duke turned on his heel. “Good. Let’s get back to the coach. There’s a lot still to do.”
XX
Owain’s patrol rose at first light. Long familiar with their daily routine, it didn’t take long for them to be ready to travel. Even the two priest-mages had learned to be as adept as the troopers.
“Orders for today, King’s Champion?” Cornet Maran asked as they sipped their mugs of tisane.
“We’re very close now,” Owain replied slowly. “If what that gruefell rider told us is correct, we must be near the edge of the forested area. This Sacred Hill can’t be more than a few miles beyond that. When we reach the edge of the trees, we’ll hang back while I see what there is to see. I may look for higher ground, from where we can get a better view.’
Maran sucked in his breath with an audible hiss. “We’re deep in enemy lands now, sir. Wouldn’t do for them to see us, and realize who we are. We’d never be able to get away.”
“I agree, within reason; but don’t forget, we’re here to learn all we can about what confronts us. We’ve got to balance our own safety against that objective.”
The former troop sergeant nodded soberly. “I hear you, sir. I guess we might die just as easily at Brackley, if they come across the border without warning, as we might die here.”
“True. All right, let’s be on our way.”
—————
Shortly after the eleventh hour, one of the scouts cantered back to the patrol, pulling up his horse next to Owain’s. “The edge of the forest is less than a mile ahead, King’s Champion,” he reported.
“What’s beyond it?”
“Open grassland, with a few clumps of trees here and there. No houses visible from where we were, and no farmed fields. There’s a hill about four miles ahead, with a sort of fog around its summit. There are two lower hillocks, one on either side. No buildings visible on them.”
“All right. Lead us there, but make sure we stop before we can be seen by anyone looking into the edge of the forest from outside. We’ll stay under cover during daylight.”
While the patrol made camp and settled down, Owain spent three hours scanning the countryside from the shelter of the trees. A road approached the hill from the left, disappearing behind the large central one. It didn’t appear to be patrolled by infantry or cavalry, but the priest-mages told him that they sensed scrying spells, covering the entire area. High above, he saw two specks circling in the sky, and realized they must be gruefells on patrol. He knew the patrol could move without being detected by scrying spells, thanks to their amulets, but any gruefell would surely see them – at least in daylight – once they’d left the shelter of the forest.
Once the alarm was raised, he knew cavalry would ride hard to intercept them from the fort just five miles away. That was bad enough, but it was the least of their worries compared to the sorcerers who lived upon the hill, who would use their spells against them. Owain shivered at the thought. He’d seen what some of the sorcerers of Karsh had been able to do to their enemies. Their spells could be cast against anything and anyone in an area, not just against individual targets. The results had always been deadly. An anti-scrying amulet would offer no defense against them.
It was essential to learn more, but that could only be done by stealth. That would be best served by taking the smallest possible number of people. Those who went closer would be at very great risk of detection, so they would have to understand and accept the dangers involved. They would also have to get word back to the rest of
the patrol about anything they learned, so that even if they lost their lives, their sacrifice would not have been in vain… but how? Owain wracked his brains, examining alternatives, discarding one option after another, but was unable to see a way forward.
At last he took from around his neck the red leather pouch the old woman had given him some weeks before. He opened it, and took the glowing, swirling ampoule into his palm. Closing his eyes, he whispered aloud, “Ahurael, I need guidance. I do not know what to do next. Show me the way!”
He sat there for almost half an hour, thinking. A germ of an idea began to develop. He examined it from all sides, looking for flaws. There were terrible dangers, and no certainty of success; but what alternative was there? If the priest-mages could bring their part, it was at least a chance, no matter how slim.
At last he opened his eyes. He felt chilled inside, despite the warm day, as he looked out over the grasslands towards the hill. Nevertheless, he smiled as he returned the ampoule to the pouch, and replaced it around his neck. He bowed his head in prayer once more. “Ahurael, I thank you for showing me a way forward. Accept my work this night for the soul of my sword-brother, Sigurd, if you will. I know not his eternal fate, but I hope to be reunited with him one day, if that is possible.”
Slowly, he walked back to the patrol’s makeshift camp, a hundred yards deep in the treeline, out of sight of passersby. As he walked, he looked around, breathing deeply of the scents of trees, bushes and flowers, watching the flight of insects and an occasional bird, savoring the interplay of light and shadow. It seemed to him that he’d never been so alive before, never so aware of his surroundings. They seemed to sparkle with a newfound light.
Enjoy it while you can, he told himself, with a wry mental shrug.
—————
As the sun sank towards the horizon, Owain took the two priest-mages aside and explained what he had in mind. They went white with shock.
“But… this is madness!” Hevel, the senior priest, expostulated.
“Not madness,” he corrected him, almost gently. “Let me explain.” He ran through the dangers confronting them once they left the forest. “The only way is for the smallest possible party to penetrate the enemy’s defenses, and see for themselves. That means me, for a start. I shall never ask any man to do what I will not. As for more, that partly depends on you. What will your powers allow you to do to aid us?”
They considered in silence, occasionally murmuring to one another. Owain waited patiently. At last the senior man said, “We can call upon our brothers in Atheldorn, and at the Mother House in Kingsholme. They will project their powers to aid us. They will need a focal point here, through which their spells can be concentrated and directed.”
“That would be you, I presume?”
“Yes… but there is one problem. We must be at the place where our combined powers will be exercised. We must come with you.”
Owain shook his head. “If things do not go well, what about the patrol? They will need your aid to make their escape, and besides, your eyewitness testimony will be needed when they make their report.”
The other was silent for a moment, then turned to Melech, his fellow priest-mage. “Are your powers strong enough to serve as a focus for our brethren on your own? If they are, I can go forward with the Champion, and mind-link to you. You can gather their powers here, then direct them to me as they are needed. You can also convey all I see to them, so that all of us in the mind-link witness what transpires. If I do not return, you can aid the patrol’s escape.”
“But why should you go with the Champion? You are the senior. I can be more easily spared, if the worst happens.”
“My spellcraft is more extensive than yours. If the Champion needs that to aid him, I should be there. You will serve all of us better by acting as a nexus for our combined powers, and a relay for all I witness, if you are able.”
A brief silence, then a slow nod. “I… I think I can do that.”
“Very well.” Hevel turned back to Owain. “Will that serve?”
“I am grateful to you. You understand the risks?”
“I do. If you are willing to face them, I am as well. After all, we both serve the Light. Darkness cannot overcome it, even in the face of death, so we need not fear.”
“Amen to that! Can you hide us from the gruefells’ sight?”
“I can cast a glamour over us as we ride. We shall look like wind-ripples through the grass.”
“That will do. We’ll leave our horses in a clump of trees at the base of the hill, and move in on foot. I shall ask the patrol whether any will volunteer to come with us.”
“Why take anybody? Why not just the two of us?”
“Because we don’t know what we shall find. If there is something that requires more strength than we can exert between us, or something must be brought back, we may need help.”
Owain called the patrol together, bade them sit down, and walked back and forth before them as he explained what he intended to do. “I shall not hide it from you; this is going to be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done in my life. The odds of success are not great – perhaps one in ten if we’re lucky – and the odds of getting killed… well, they’re the other nine out of ten!” A grim chuckle ran around the men-at-arms. “Still, we came to learn what danger confronts the Kingdom. I see no way to get that information other than to go to this Sacred Hill, to find out more about what Rajczak called the ‘Eater of Souls’. Even if all who go there are killed, the priest-mages should be able to record what we see and learn. The rest of you can escort Pater Melech back to the Kingdom, and describe all we saw on the way here and back.
“Pater Hevel and I will be going. I’d like to have a few more with us, to add their strength to ours if we need it, and their weapons if it comes to that. I won’t try to hide from you that the odds of our safe return are very, very slim. That being so, I won’t order any of you to come along. Instead, I’ll ask for volunteers. Cornet,” and he turned to Maran, “that does not include you. If I do not return, you will have to take command of the patrol and see it safely back to Brackley.”
“But, King’s Champion –”
“No. I’m sorry, Maran, my friend. I need you – this patrol needs you – alive. We can’t put you at greater hazard by coming with me. If you’re meant to die anyway, I daresay there’ll be plenty of opportunities on the way home!”
Maran shrugged, a reluctant smile coming to his face as the others laughed. “Very well, King’s Champion… but I don’t know how I’ll face the Baron and Garath, if you don’t return with us.”
“Tell them I ordered you to stay with the patrol. That should be enough.” Owain turned to the rest of the patrol. “All right. Is anyone willing to put it all to the test with us tonight?”
There was a long silence, then one man stood up, a tall, lanky cavalryman. “I’ll come with you, King’s Champion.”
“I thank you, Ofer. Are there any others?”
Another pause, then a shorter, stockier man got to his feet. “You still owe me three bronze cruzados from our last dice game, Ofer. I’d better come along, if only to make sure you live to pay your debt!” There was more soft laughter from the others.
“Thank you, Raz,” Owain acknowledged. He waited, but there were no more volunteers. “Very well. Cornet, were the hunters successful?”
“Yes, King’s Champion. We have a deer and a small shoat for supper.”
“Good. Let’s light our fires and cook the meat before it gets any darker. Dry wood, as always, to make no smoke. After supper, everyone is to prepare to ride. Don’t saddle your horses, but keep their tack near them, ready to put it on at a moment’s notice. You can lie down if you want to rest, but stay dressed, with your weapons to hand. The priest-mages will make their own arrangements with their brothers back in the Kingdom. At the tenth hour, Ofer, Raz, Pater Hevel and I will depart. Cornet, set double sentries, in case anything goes wrong.”
“We’ll be ready, Ki
ng’s Champion,” Maran promised. “I don’t think we’ll need sentries, though. I daresay none of us will rest until you get back!”
As the men turned to light their fires and prepare the evening meal, Owain took Ofer and Raz aside. “I suggest you see the priest-mages now, while there’s still time, if you have anything on your conscience. Put your souls in a fit state to stand before Ahurael and face his judgment, if that should be our fate this night.”
Ofer nodded. Raz asked, “What about you, King’s Champion?”
“I’ve already taken care of that.”
As the two walked towards the priests, Owain went over to Maran. “I’ve one last duty for you,” he said, squatting next to the cornet. He unclipped the sheath of Sigurd’s dagger from his belt, and handed it over. “If I don’t come back, give this blade to Garath. Tell him that it belonged first to Sigurd, my predecessor as King’s Champion, and then to me. It comes from what the Order calls the ‘Ancient Ones’, a people who lived in our land an age ago. He can ask the Abbott at Atheldorn to tell him more about them. It was given to me by… let us say, one who had the right to do so. Tell the Abbott I said he should tell Garath what I told him about it.”
He explained how the weapon had been enspelled, and how it would break, rather than defend someone who had turned away from the Light. “Garath will soon face a choice. He may be facing it already. If he stays in the Army, he will move in circles that place greater store on worldly acclaim, and power, and position, than they do on being an upright, honorable man. Too many people, particularly in the nobility, grasp for every shred of power and wealth they can get. They are not above using less than moral means to get them. The Baron, his father, is not like that. It’s one of the reasons I respect him. I send Garath this dagger to remind him of the choices that will confront him. If he chooses wisely, it will serve him well. If he does not, it will fail him, probably at a time when that is the last thing he needs. I want him to think about that, every day.”