Dark Quest

by Richard S. Tuttle

  Dalgar pulled his hand back and allowed Will to pocket the coins. “I put the book on a shipping wagon this morning. Gentleman wanted it shipped to Miram and was willing to pay for the freight. Naturally, I chose the cheapest shipping company and sent it on its way. Continental Shipping it was. Shouldn’t be hard to find, cause they don’t have many wagons. I suspect there is only one that goes north from here.”

  Dalgar turned and left the shop, slamming the door so hard that the bell fell off. Will Staton went into the back room and laughed so hard that he could hardly stand straight.

  “Will, you sure played that awfully close,” said Larc. “You want to be a little cautious around these guys. If he tossed a fireball down your throat, there wouldn’t have been much that I could’ve done to save you.”

  Will straightened up and his laughter died a little. “Larc, you could see the desire in his black eyes. He wanted the information so bad, I should’ve charged him double. Anyway, you might want to get word to Alex that he will have company tomorrow, right on schedule.”

  The Ranger saw the riders coming and galloped along the forest path, ducking branches and swinging side to side. He passed another Ranger scout and continued on until he reached Alex. “They’re here, Sir. About thirty, I figure.”

  “Okay, Corporal, signal the wagon and alert the other team.”

  The Corporal took off down the hill and headed for the road. He rode past the wagon and up the hill on the other side. Alex led his men forward, looking for a good spot for the ambush. His men had already been over the route and tree ribbons marked the best spots for the wagon to stop. Two miles down the road, Alex called a halt and the Rangers dismounted. The designated Rangers gathered the horses and led them off.

  Alex fired an arrow into the road and gave the signal to his men. The Rangers scurried up the trees and disappeared from sight. Alex and Jenneva continued on the path for another quarter mile and dismounted. Alex knew his men on the other side of the road were already in position.

  The wagon pulled off the road where the arrow was and Terris quickly retrieved the arrow. Oscar and Terris scampered into the woods and lay flat on the ground. Five minutes later the bandits arrived and surveyed the area. They looked for the driver, but could not find him. The leader dismounted and entered the wagon. As soon as the leader was in the wagon, the Rangers opened fire. Over a hundred arrows rained down onto the road and the Black Devils dropped as a group. Their leader crawled through the wagon and grabbed the reins. Nobody fired as he took off with the wagon.

  Just as the horses started to pick up speed, the Black Devil saw Alex and Jenneva standing in the road. The robber raised his hand and sent a fireball hurtling towards the pair. Alex raised his shield and deflected the projectile. Jenneva raised her own hand and the icy freezeball slammed into the driver. Alex raised his arms and shouted and the horses drew up and reared. Two Rangers drew up along side the wagon’s team and grabbed the harness, soothing the animals.

  Alex carried the frozen Black Devil into a clearing in the woods and laid him down. Oscar and Terris Orba regained the wagon and continued their journey. The Rangers cleared the road of bodies and buried them in a common grave.

  “Is this going to work, Jenneva?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t know,” answered Jenneva. “I hope so. Our schedule is a little tight if it doesn’t.” Jenneva cast a Mind Probe and began searching for answers. “His name is Lugo. From Forgum in Sordoa. He’s detected me. He’s fighting me. He is the leader as you thought. He is to report back to Dalgar at the Palace . . . yes, Dalgar. His men are to take the book to . . . gone. He’s dead.”

  “What do you mean, he’s dead?” asked Alex. “Did your mind probe kill him?”

  “No, Alex,” explained Jenneva, “he killed himself. He stopped his breathing. He knew I was extracting answers and he feared Mordac more than death. We’ll have to do with what we have. Maybe I can get the location of their hideout from Dalgar, but I doubt it.”

  “I don’t want you giving yourself away at the Palace. We can find the hideout another way.”

  “If I can get the information out of Dalgar without exposing myself, I will. I assume this Dalgar will have to be one of the King’s aides, but I don’t know how I’ll recognize him.”

  “Ask Duke Whitley,” offered Alex. “He probably knows the names of the important ones and this Dalgar has to be important to send out thirty men.”

  Alex, Jenneva and the Rangers headed back to Tagaret.

  General Clark sent his door Sergeant off with a return message to Colonel Gregor. Seconds later a figure walked into his office and closed the door. The General looked up and swallowed a scream.

  “Don’t be upset, General Clark,” the figure whispered. “I am not here to harm you, but to help you understand.”

  “B . B . But,” stuttered the General, “y . you can’t be here. This isn’t real.”

  “Oh, I’m real enough, General, but my time is very limited. Come, walk with me.” The figure held his hand towards the doorway as if ushering the General out the door. The door swung open at the figure’s invitation. “Come now. I have said that my time is limited.”

  The General rose on shaky legs. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  General Clark held the desk for support as he came around and headed for the door. “Your Highness, why have you come to me? Have I failed you in some way?”

  “Come quickly,” the figure commanded softly.

  The figure led General Clark down the stairs and into the dungeon. They encountered no guards or anyone else. The figure beckoned towards the first cell and the door swung open. General Clark flinched when the figure reached out and took his hand.

  “I am going to show you your failures, General. Do you want to see them?”

  “No!” the General shouted. General Clark saw the look of disappointment on King Eugene’s face. “I mean, yes, Your Highness. Show me my mistakes.”

  “Better, General, better. We have only to walk through this Door. Come.”

  King Eugene held the General’s hand as they walked through the Door into the estate home of Duke Nelson in Miram. “Do you recognize this place, General? It is the estate home of the late Duke Nelson.”

  “The late Duke Nelson?” asked the officer.

  “Yes,” answered the apparition. “Join me in a walk to the basement.”

  King Eugene led General Clark down the stairs to a dark and dingy basement. The spirit held his hand high and a bright light emanated from it, illuminating the dismal room. In the corner lay a pile of bones and a gold-tipped red walking stick. “Here is Duke Nelson.”

  “That’s impossible,” stated General Clark. “Duke Nelson became King Austin. I’ve seen him.”

  The figure reached into his robe and handed some papers to General Clark. “Read these papers, General. Do you see the Royal Physician’s description of Duke Nelson’s injuries from falling off a horse? Note the bone fractures on the left arm and left leg. Look at those bones, General. See those very fractures. See his walking stick? Had you not noticed that King Austin no longer uses one? Now you know why.”

  “Then who is King Austin?” asked the shaken General.

  “King Austin,” explained the spirit, “is my murderer. He entered my room and slew me with my father’s sword. Then he slew my guards who had been frozen by his magic. My murderer is Mordac, an evil magician, student of Sarac.”

  “Then I must return and arrest him,” stated the General.

  “No!” shouted the apparition. “He is too strong. You will do nothing. I have come back to show you your mistakes so that you will make no more. Colonel Gregor knows of this deceit. He tried to inform you too softly. Follow his lead. Do what he requests and nothing more. Tell no one of my visit except the Colonel. He will understand. Come, we must return, for my time is almost over.”

  King Eugene led the badly shaken General back to the dungeon. “Go, General. I will spend my final moments here in solitude.”

  The
General ran from the dungeon and flattened himself against the wall in the corridor. He thought about peeking back into the dungeon, but did not. After he allowed himself to become somewhat composed, he straightened up and proceeded to Colonel Gregor’s office. He entered the office and closed the door. He walked over to a chair and sank into it. The Colonel looked up and saw the white, pale face of the General. He felt pity for his superior. He wished the charade had not been necessary, but the General had been stubborn and was in a position to do great harm to the nation.

  “General Clark, are you all right?”

  “I’m not sure, Colonel. I think I just had a bad dream. It couldn’t have been true. Yes, it must have been a bad dream.”

  The Colonel was concerned. He could not allow General Clark to dismiss the elaborate charade by brushing it off as a dream. Fortunately, Duke Whitley had foreseen this possibility and they had planned for it.

  “Well, General,” soothed the Colonel, “we all have bad dreams now and then. Why don’t you tell me about it. Sometimes it helps, you know.”

  “No! Really, I’ll be all right. Just let me rest here a while. I’ve probably been working too hard.”

  “As you wish, General Clark, as you wish.” The Colonel felt downright guilty about what he had to do next, but Targa was more important than the General’s feelings.

  “Excuse me, General, but I don’t think King Eugene would appreciate you crumpling those medical records.”

  The General stared at the papers he had clenched in his fist, Duke Nelson’s medical records. You don’t end up with the Royal Physician’s papers in your hand from a bad dream. He gently straightened the papers and laid them on the Colonel’s desk.

  “It wasn’t a dream, was it?” he asked.

  “No, General, it wasn’t.” Colonel Gregor picked up the papers and slid them into his desk drawer. “Why don’t we get out of here and go share a meal. I still owe you one, anyway.”

  “Yes, I think I would like that, Colonel. And a bottle of fine wine, too.”

  Chapter 13

  Uncloaking

  General Clark told Colonel Gregor his story over dinner at the Palace Shadow. The General looked better after he shared his experience with someone else who did not think him crazy. The Colonel sympathized with the older officer and assured him that he was not the only one who had noticed the change of character in Duke Nelson.

  When the General was finished and composed, Colonel Gregor flashed a signal to the King’s Advisor. Duke Whitley came over to the table. “You gentlemen are becoming regulars here at the Palace Shadow. May I join you?”

  The Colonel indicated that the Duke should sit and the waiter came by to take his order. The General looked pleadingly at the Colonel, but Gregor pretended not to notice. The General obviously thought that Duke Whitley should be informed, but he was not going to be the one who mentioned it. The spirit had been quite clear on that point. After assuring himself that the General was not about to repeat his knowledge, Colonel Gregor addressed Duke Whitley.

  “Duke Whitley, we have reason to believe that King Austin is not what he appears to be. The General and I believe that Duke Nelson is dead and an evil sorcerer has taken his place.”

  Duke Whitley slowly sipped his glass of wine. He lowered the goblet and made a point of looking around the room. Finally, he put his wine on the table. “Gentlemen, you should be careful saying such things in public.” He watched the General clenching his wine glass. “You never can tell where Mordac’s spies are.”

  The General’s glass broke and his wine spilled onto the table. “You know?” blurted the General.

  Colonel Gregor threw his napkin on the wine to stop it from dripping off the table. Duke Whitley looked the General in the eye. “Yes, I know. He’s made quite a few mistakes. It took me a while to figure out who he was, but his comment on Lavinda being destroyed solved the riddle. The real question, General, is whether or not you still feel bound to follow his orders.”

  The General shoved the broken glass towards the center of the table. “It is such a contradiction to everything I have ever believed, but I can not possibly follow his orders now. I should hand in my resignation tomorrow morning.”

  “General,” interrupted Colonel Gregor, “I asked you a while ago not to resign before the war is over. I ask you again. Targa needs your expertise to defeat the Sordoans. Besides, only the rightful King can accept your resignation. Who do you plan to give it to?”

  The General reached into his pouch and withdrew a paper and pen. He scribbled furiously and returned the pen to his pouch. He handed the paper to Colonel Gregor. “Colonel, see that this gets to the appropriate person.”

  Duke Whitley began to protest, but the Colonel stopped him.

  “Yes, Colonel,” stated General Clark, “I know about your Ranger pipeline to my men. You’ve been a step ahead of me this whole game. Frankly, I’m glad that you were this time. Those orders will position my men at Southland and Melbin. They are the two most vulnerable targets.”

  “Thank you, General. If you will excuse me a moment, I want to get these orders on their way.” The Colonel left the inn and returned in less than a minute. He had a pair of Rangers stationed outside the Palace Shadow waiting for the orders. “Welcome back to Targa, General.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” replied Targa’s top military officer. “There is still the question of what to do with the impostor King.”

  “That is a question to which I have an answer, General,” offered Duke Whitley. “Tomorrow morning Mordac will be unveiled.”

  Most of the Red Swords were out of the Palace performing practice maneuvers, the rest were ready for the fireworks. Lugo entered the Palace and went to Dalgar’s office. Dalgar looked up at the Black Devil. “Well?”

  “It is on its way,” stated Lugo.

  Dalgar stood. “So, the information was correct! Excellent, Lugo. We shall gather our brothers and return home. I grow weary living in this Palace and pretending to be someone whom I can’t stand. You have done well. You and your team will be honored. You may return to camp and we shall celebrate you there.” Dalgar abruptly left the room.

  Jenneva was disappointed. She did not get the chance to determine the location of their base. She could not pry any further without jeopardizing the rest of the agenda. Lugo left the room and was never seen again.

  Duke Whitley was inspecting the kitchen facilities. He asked many questions and the answers were always full and courteous. It wasn’t every day that the King’s Advisor paid a visit to the kitchen and praised its staff. After being shown how meticulously the King’s breakfast was prepared, Duke Whitley left the kitchen, his task completed.

  An hour later, Duke Whitley noticed a lot of traffic in and out of the King’s Study. He knocked and entered the room. He saw chests being loaded with books, ready for departure.

  “What is it?” snapped the King.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Highness, but a matter has come up that requires your attention.”

  “There is nothing that requires my attention right now, Advisor.”

  “It concerns Alexander Tork, Your Highness,” stated the Duke. “He’s here at the Palace.”

  “What?” demanded King Austin. “I thought he was dead. Have him thrown in jail. I’ll deal with him later.”

  Duke Whitley noticed the King’s two favorite aides were nowhere in sight. “I’m afraid that can’t be done, Sir. There are so few soldiers left in the Palace that no one will approach him. He keeps shouting something about knowing where some book is. I think he may be mad, Sire.”

  “He probably is, Advisor. What book is he shouting about?”

  “I’m afraid I have trouble understanding him, Your Highness. It sounds like he’s talking about some beginning book or some book about the beginning or something like that.”

  King Austin straightened up and his aides stopped what they were doing. The King turned to his aides and said, “Go. Handle this problem and return to finish your
tasks. Thank you for your help, Advisor. Why don’t you inform the Council that today is declared a holiday and they should take time off to enjoy themselves? I know they have worked so hard these last few weeks.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness. I’m sure that they would be grateful to get out of the Palace today.” Duke Whitley smiled and left the room. He gathered the other Dukes and hastily led them out the side gate of the Palace.

  Out in the front courtyard stood Alex Tork all alone. The Red Swords were nowhere to be seen. The Colonel and the General were up in one of the towers that afforded an open view of the courtyard. The three magicians were in another tower waiting impatiently for the show to begin. Duke Whitley had told the Council that a battle was about to take place and he knew of a safe position in which to view. They all scurried quickly to the open front gate just in time to see King Austin’s aides start arriving.

  The first aides charged Alex with their swords drawn. They rushed him from both sides and kept him busy swinging his sword of death back and forth. The aides stopped rushing Alex and grouped on the steps. One of them hurled a fireball at Alex and he deflected it with his shield. He started walking slowly towards the steps. One of the aides turned and ran back into the Palace while the others all started hurling fireballs at the warrior.

  Alex was kept busy deflecting the flaming projectiles with his sword and his shield. And slowly he kept advancing. He reached the bottom of the steps and started slashing the King’s aides with his sword while blocking their projectiles with his shield. The aides started to panic and ran back into the Palace.

  Suddenly, they reversed direction and were charging Alex again. Alex strode into their ranks, decapitating aides as he passed. He looked up to the top of the stairs and King Austin strode, shoving his men towards Alex. Alex smiled and shouted to the King. “You thought you could kill me, did you Nelson? Your little pets are not very good magicians and they’re even worse with a sword. It’s your head I have come for, Nelson.”