She cast a glum stare behind her. Father Jacob hurried along beside the baron, and she heard him again speaking an apology. “It seems we must leave at once on an urgent matter,” he was saying. “Please give the message I left for Captain Brodst to him as soon as he wakes. You have been most gracious hosts. His Majesty will surely hear of this.”
“Raise the portcullis,” Adrina screamed to the guards inside the gatehouse.
“The wagon is most splendid,” Jacob said, seemingly to drown out Adrina’s words.
No doubt, Lord Fraddylwicke had chosen the stately wagon with its four-horse team with clear purpose. Adrina knew this was meant as a symbol both of his wealth and of his generosity, which he hoped would be relayed to King Andrew. She didn’t find it odd that she could so intensely dislike a man who she had only met yesterday evening.
Behind her, she heard men shouting, she looked back to the outer courtyard to see a small contingent of foot soldiers mustering. She stopped and whirled about to face the baron. “A gaggle of foot soldiers will only slow us down. We need the wagon and the provisions you promised, nothing more. Tell them to return to their duties.”
“Your Highness, I must object,” Baron Fraddylwicke said. “I must see to your protection. The swamp is no place for a lady such as yourself to be alone.”
Adrina started to respond, but Father Jacob spoke first. “He is right, Princess Adrina. It would be best to have an escort.”
“Fine, if they are to come along, have them mount up. They can ride, yes?”
“I am afraid—” Adrina held her breath. The baron was fond of those three words. “—that the scant few animals that remain are ill-fit for riding. Your Captain Trendmore took every horse in Fraddylwicke. Strangest thing, I told him I needed mounts for the King’s messengers—you see, usually we trade out on a one-for-one basis—but he said he wanted them all and would keep his. Even sent men about the countryside. He left nary one behind. It is only by the grace of Great-Father that my personal team remains.”
Adrina started to say, “Great-Father had nothing to do with it,” but then realized that it was fortunate the baron had hidden the animals away. Her irritation with the pompous baron decreased. She bit her cheek and smiled.
“That was a wise decision,” she said, “my father, the King, will surely hear how you have helped me, for I will tell him personally. The foot soldiers stay here, however.”
Baron Fraddylwicke’s face suddenly seemed to glow and the baroness touched her kerchief to her eye. “As you wish,” the baron said.
Father Jacob nodded approval and helped Adrina climb into the wagon.
The four-horse team eagerly responded to Jacob’s guiding hands. At first the gentle countryside that encompassed Fraddylwicke Castle greeted them, but this was a short-enjoyed oasis in the midst of surrounding mires, and after only an hour of riding the roads began to slope gradually downward to be reclaimed by the wetlands.
Instantly, Adrina and Jacob felt moisture in the air and smelled pungent odors of stagnant waters. Fortunately, the roads leading away from the castle in this section of the lowlands were well reinforced. The main road was built up a full three feet above the waiting waters. Adrina marveled at the feat of ingenuity and determination it had taken to build such an access way.
A dreary haze hung over the mire, giving it unparalleled uncanniness. This, when added to the sense of foreboding she felt, put her at considerable
unease. She puzzled over a great many things, especially how Prince Valam fit into all this. To be sure, they must reach Alderan before her brother’s arrival. They also needed to catch up to the column and warn them, but what would they tell them to watch out for? And what of Prince William? If his ship had not arrived in Alderan, why had no messages been sent? Why in the dream was he in such pain? And why had he stared at her so?
As she tried to think about all this, her head began to throb, the pain becoming so intense that all her thoughts eventually fell away. Ahead in the distance lay disparate crossroads that led to tiny villages whose buildings dotted the landscape. Mounted on top of tiny cross-sections of land that were barely habitable, the villages seemed much like the swamp’s scattered weeping willow trees, waiting to be reclaimed someday by the dank surrounding waters.
Hoping to rid herself of throbbing headache and troubled thoughts, she turned to Father Jacob. And though he seemed deep in his own concerns, she endeavored to spark a conversation with him.
“It all looks so lonely, does it not, Father Jacob?” she said, her voice mixing in with the thump-roll, thump-roll of the wagon’s wheels. “I’m curious about Lord Fraddylwicke, such a grand castle in the middle of all this waste. Everything so well maintained, these roads as well. The villages we pass are impoverished. With tithing to the temples there can be little wealth left to tax. Does the Baron tax in blood?”
Jacob was slow to reply, but it seemed clear as he began that he grasped her intent, which was to rid their minds of troubled thoughts for a time. “I find these lands curious as well. Only the southern portion of the mire remains populated, you know. During the Great Wars, the castle was a major strategic point for King Jarom the First, but now it serves no useful purpose. There are other safeguarded passages to the southlands.
“The wars lasted generations and it does seem odd that anyone would chose to stay in so desolate a place afterward. Perhaps they stay simply because it is their ancestral home.”
“Perhaps,” said Adrina.
“In a way I pity them, and not only because the desolation and isolation they endure seem overbearing. Also because generations of war and life in such a place left behind a bitter and superstitious people. Their ancestors are King Jarom’s Blood Soldiers. Too brutal and uncivilized for the civilized world that emerged after the Great Wars and too many to exterminate, they are all but forgotten about by both the kingdom that gave them birth and the kingdom that conquered them.”
“Blood Soldiers, why have I never heard about them?”
“You won’t find anything I’ve just told you in any book in Imtal, this I assure, though Keeper Martin would verify the history. Yet, it is perhaps best they remain forgotten.”
Father Jacob whipped the reins held tightly in his hands. Adrina took this as a sign to change the topic of their conversation. “Father Jacob, how long will it take to reach the coast?”
Jacob thought about it for a short time and then responded, “Great-Father willing and if we pray very hard and drive the horses as much as we dare, we might be able to reach it by midmorning tomorrow.”
“And Alderan?”
“Early the day after, if we pray.”
“Then we will pray,” said Adrina matter-of-factly.
Weariness swept over Adrina like a storm. Her face turned pale and though she fought to stay awake, sleep came.
The wagon continued to speed along the trail. Jacob’s thoughts were on the wagon and the trail ahead. It took great care to hold the trail steadily at the increased speed. He was so engrossed in his concentration that he did not notice Adrina’s state. He only heard the horses’ hooves thundering along the trail.
The sky above grew overcast, the winds began to pick up, and an ill feeling intensified in Father Jacob’s gut. His intuition told him a heavy storm was approaching. He cast silent prayers to Great-Father to protect them from the rains and to allow them to complete their journey unscathed.
But it was a losing affray that was being conducted against the squall in the good priest’s mind. The clouds overhead turned dark and callous quickly. He felt their presence as an evil spirit invading his privacy.
The air turned cold. The first droplets of rain fell. He beat at the reins with increasing ferocity matched by the increasing fury of the wind. Sprinkles of rain thrashed against them, then the downpour began.
He secured the top button of his cloak and turned up the high collar. “There are extra blankets in the rear—” He stopped cold, the words frozen on his lips. Suddenly, he saw Adrina,
her face colorless, deathly pale, and fear entered his thoughts and took control. He commanded the horses to halt.
With trembling hands, he reached out and touched Adrina’s face. It was cold, sticky wet with perspiration and rain. He removed the extra blankets from the rear of the wagon and bundled Adrina in them. Then he drove the horses onward, faster and faster. Somewhere ahead he hoped to find a crossroads that would lead to a village.
Anxiety swept over him as they sped along the road. He chastised himself repeatedly in his mind. Rain began to fall in mighty torrents as the storm engulfed them. Wind, rain and diminished visibility made the road treacherous but Jacob did not slow the horses. He continued to push the wagon to its limits.
Lost to the frenzy of the moment, his mind stressed and incapable of clear thought, Jacob panicked. Frantically he scanned ahead, his thoughts running in a hundred different directions and many times he glanced worriedly at Adrina.
He drove the team on, urging the animals still faster. The dirt trail quickly turned to mud and it was only the high sides of the road thankfully packed in a precisely built wall of rock on either side that held the mud in place. The horses raced through this muck, kicking up a splatter of mud and small stones. The droning thunder of hooves and the racing of wheels rose above the clamor of falling rain and mounting winds.
Soon he gave up hope of finding a village ahead. Recalling the villages behind them, he now sought a place to turn the wagon around. Again and again, his eyes darted to Adrina’s still form. A relieved sigh came as he finally reached a spot with an adjacent path where he could turn the four-horse team and wagon around in a tight circle.
He reined the team in and with a pair of leathers in each hand, guided the horses quickly through the twist. A sudden creaking of the wagon’s wheels whining above the sound of rain and wind caused him to start. He pulled the reins in the opposite direction. The team turned back, but his reaction came too late. The axle was surely cracked. The left front wheel was out of kilter and it would only be a short time before the wheel broke free.
He shook with dread. Still, he forced himself to think through the situation. Alone he couldn’t fix the wheel should it snap. He would have to seek shelter from the storm and attempt to repair the damage later. He didn’t move for what seemed a long time. He just sat there, eyes wide, searching. He wanted to see a village along the horizon. The last village they had passed was quite a distance behind them. Perhaps he could reach it if the axle held long enough.
The air around him, which was already cold, grew icy as the storm raged on. Father Jacob wanted to curse, wished his vocation would allow him to curse. To scream aloud just once would have satisfied all his pent up frustration. Instead he found the wisdom of his faith and prayed to Great-Father for guidance. Briefly afterward, the will of the Father flowed strongly through him, but then it was as if the storm sucked away the renewed vitality as readily as rain and wind beat down upon him.
A portent of evil filled his mind like a sickness, yet even in this he attempted to find good. The will of the Father had found him even in this hellish squall. Faith maintained, he continued his scan of the vicinity, his eyes wandering along the adjacent trail while the heavy downpour obscured his vision.
Abruptly he stopped. He squinted, and strained to fix his gaze ahead in the distance where he thought he saw the outline of some low structures. Were they dwellings? Could it truly be? Or was he imagining them?
At a careful gallop, ensuring his pace did not upset the wagon too much, he ushered the four-horse team on. The tiny road was no more than a raised path but it did appear to lead toward a village of sorts. He held his breath with each bump, and prayed the axle would hold, and each time it did, he released it in a heavy sigh.
The mighty structures he envisioned were no more than a collection of thatched huts clumped atop a mound of dirt. But in his mind, Jacob was sure he and Adrina would find warmth inside.
The ailing axle finally gave way with a resonant crack and the wagon slid to an awkward halt. He held Adrina tightly as the wagon toppled to one side. Clinging to his faith, he wiped hopelessness from his face, then picked up Adrina in his arms—Great-Father would not let him fail. He would carry her the remaining distance. Relief was only a few steps away.
The next hundred yards seemed liked miles to Jacob. Step by step, he sloshed through the mud. His back ached and his arms were tired, but he did not stop. A wooden door loomed in the distance and eventually he came to stand before it. He cried out into the stormy sky a solemn thanks to Great-Father, and with a heavy fist he rapped on the door of the hut.
The dull echo of his blows was the only response. In desperation Jacob tried to force the door open but apparently it was barred.
“Go away!” said a meek voice from behind him.
Jacob turned around wearily, his face expressionless as he looked upon the small boy in front of him. He said, “We need your help.”
A middle-aged man appeared from out of the gloom. He approached the boy and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You must leave, we cannot help you.”
Jacob didn’t move.
“Please go, you must go.”
“I am Father Jacob, First Minister to the King. I need your help.”
“So,” said the boy.
The man hushed the boy, and said, “You must go and if you truly be the First Minister to the King, you will know what peril it is to accept strangers during such an evil storm.”
And with that, the man took the boy’s hand and hurried away.
Chapter Four:
Magic Shield
A trek that would have taken many days by foot would be substantially shortened by wagon. Xith was deeply concerned about getting as far north as quickly as they possibly could. Time was running out. He could sense that now.
Xith looked at the innocence spread out simply on Vilmos’ long face and was saddened by it. He wished he could explain to Vilmos the gravity of the situation they were in, how precarious the path ahead was, and how much of it relied on him, a mere boy. Xith only hoped when the time came for Vilmos to act that he would be prepared, that they both would be.
“Beautiful morning!” exclaimed Xith, breaking the silence in the air and casting the shadows from his thoughts.
“What?” asked Vilmos, broken from his own reverie.
“Can’t you feel the energy in the air? Don’t you just want to draw it in?”
Vilmos sniffed the air. It didn’t feel any different from normal. “Not really,” was his quick response.
In and out of his mouth with hearty puffs, Xith began to breathe the moist morning air. Vilmos imagined that Xith was beginning to glow and became entranced by this fanciful notion. Then, subtle changes in skin tone became increasingly apparent until Xith actually did glow. His voice peaking in the middle, Vilmos asked, “Xith, what are you doing?”
Playfulness cascaded away from Xith’s eyes. “Sorry,” he said after a long pause, “I was going to show you something, but now is not the time. We must wait a while longer.”
The road Xith and Vilmos traveled along was arid. The horses’ hooves and the wagon’s wheels kicked up a large dusty plume, which marked their passage. Ahead in the distance lay a series of rocky hills covered mostly with tall grasses and patched with granite. Beyond, the trail disappeared as it wound through small canyons created by the hills, and beyond the hills was another open flat prairie, with dry tall grasses dancing in the gentle winds traveling lightly across its face. With the slow creaking of the wagon echoing in their ears, they made their way through the hills to the far side of the prairie and beyond.
Vilmos’ eyes grew heavy and his yawns became more frequent. His thoughts drifted for a time, unfixed, and eventually settled on images of his mother, whom he missed. A happiness that had been absent for days entered his heart as he pictured her face. His next conscious thought was not until some time later. A sudden shift of the wagon as it hit a large hole in the path thrust him from his sleep.
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Caught in the dilemma of how much he could teach Vilmos, not knowing if the boy was fully ready to begin the lessons, and, if he were, how fast was too fast to progress, Xith tried to reach a decision. It seemed there was time for one last lesson. He must teach it, but was Vilmos ready?
Unable to solve this dilemma, Xith concentrated on the road, which was pockmarked and pitted. He slowed the team down to steady the wagon, and the sluggish pace made the day’s progress seem nonexistent. Xith retreated to thoughts of times past and old acquaintances, while Vilmos moved on to let his mind wander, and again enjoyed the passing serenity of the land.
After they had eaten and had rested the horses and were back on the trail moving through a series of wooded knolls and open grasslands, Xith came to a decision. There was time for one last lesson. He would teach it as he had planned to.
Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches Page 23