“But I have no recollection of a gift and I carry nothing on my person.”
“Exactly,” said Seth, “The gift is within you, in the place made by the arrow.”
Chancellor Yi tapped the floor to quell the growing murmurs but that didn’t work to bring silence. Only King Andrew’s raised hand brought silence.
If you will allow me, whispered Galan to Keeper Martin as she moved toward him. I will reach my hand within you and remove the item. It will be painless—I assure you.
As Galan began to reach within Martin’s robes, the keeper put out his hand to the guards who were coming to his aid. “It is all right. There is nothing to fear. Galan means me no harm.”
Please stand still, Keeper Martin, it will only be a moment. You shouldn’t feel any pain. Galan’s hand melted into Martin’s side, and when she removed it she held a slender rod. She handed the rod to Seth.
Seth removed a thin casing from the rod. He began to unwrap the scroll within. “May I read this?” he asked. “You will find it—”
Chancellor Yi cut in, “Why have you waited until now to return to our lands, only in time of need? Why did you not tell this to those who found you? Wouldn’t that have made more sense?”
Seth turned to the chancellor, reaching out with his hand and pointing a sinewy finger. “Chancellor, as a member of the High Council, you know why we left your lands and why we haven’t returned. Your kind drove us away… in the Race Wars all was destroyed.”
Wide-eyed the old chancellor sat back, leaning away from Seth’s outstretched hand. He did not make further comment. Keeper Martin quickly stepped in, saying, “Brother Seth, please continue.”
As with the chancellor, however, King Andrew didn’t want Seth to speak. He stood purposefully, and when he did so all eyes in the room went to his. “We are in a time when the careful peace we have had these many past years has been broken, and we are working to repair the damage to prevent the collapse of the Kingdom Alliance.” The silver of Seth’s skin and the odd color of his eyes called to Andrew as he spoke. “Our new alliances with the South will ensure peace, and we have no desire to bring war to our door or to carry out war on a distant shore.”
Seth switched from talking aloud to speaking with his mind. A whisper of his thoughts met each person sitting around the table, touching King Andrew last. Then Seth spoke aloud with purpose, “I waited for this moment when I could sit before your council and address it as an equal. I wanted to know the thoughts in your minds, your concerns and most importantly your reactions. This is why I waited. These words were meant for me to speak, and not from a sick bed.”
To hold the others in check, Seth switched to thought, sending words and emotions, But standing before you! War will come to your door and when it does it will be too late. You must act now! The Elves of the Reaches need your support, do not wait until it is too late.
Directing his words to Andrew and others who he could see were confused, Father Jacob jumped into the conversation. “Do not be alarmed! As I have told you, Seth and Galan can speak with their minds.”
Brother Seth speaks the truth. Please, you must help us! The voice that touched their thoughts was Galan’s. Let him speak from the scroll and all will be clear.
Chancellor Yi thumped his staff. “Brother Seth, when you speak of support, what type of support do you mean?”
“Ships, men, supplies! We need all you can spare and we need quick action beyond all other things!”
“We need to know more of your lands and your enemy. Speak to convince his majesty. In this instance, we, the council, are echoes of his will and serve only to raise questions and get answers.”
The tide of the conversation flowed heavily back and forth, growing heated at times, stopping at other times. Seth carried on the debate with Galan acting as his support. The discussion went long into the afternoon with the council considering each point and counterpoint carefully.
Seth was never allowed to read from the scroll.
Chapter Fourteen:
A Lonely Path
Two days came and went, with Vilmos spending most of his time on the opposite side of a playing board from Edward. Although the break was enjoyable, Vilmos was growing increasingly anxious for Xith’s return.
The inn was an unusually empty place, with Edward and Vilmos being the sole occupants. In the three days not a single visitor or traveler arrived. Vilmos would often glance out the window when he heard a noise hoping it was Xith, usually it was the wind rattling the shutters. Edward noticed this and often told Vilmos not to worry, his friend would find him soon enough. Vilmos fretted nonetheless.
Vilmos and Edward were in the middle of yet another game of King’s Mate. So far Vilmos had lost three of his fools and his keeper. Edward had not lost a single piece. Vilmos did, however, have his king in the center raised square, which meant for a time he controlled the board.
Cleverly, Vilmos swung his second swordmaster onto an adjacent raised square, now it could not be taken. Edward thought long and hard and only after careful calculation did he move his priestess diagonally forward to endanger Vilmos’ first swordmaster.
Vilmos rotated the swordmaster around the King, taking one of Edward’s fools. This left Vilmos in a position to take a keeper or swordmaster the next turn.
Edward could not counter the move. He sought to gain by a loss. He moved his swordmaster, hoping Vilmos would claim the keeper.
Vilmos studied the board. The keeper was an easy piece to take, but the bold move was to take nothing and move his priest adjacent to Edward’s king and swordmaster. Vilmos could not take the king while the swordmasters remained. He would wait until Edward tried to claim the priest. The priest was backed up by his own keeper, which in turn was further supported by a swordmaster, which could swing one space further to the left if necessary. The play was tight and tricky, but Vilmos attempted it.
Edward smiled at the move—it was amateurish. He quickly devoured Vilmos’ swordmaster with his priestess. A broad smirk was evident on his face, until in a series of quick and calculated maneuvers Vilmos stripped four of Edward’s pieces: the priestess with which Edward had taken his swordmaster, the swordmaster which had been backed by the priestess, the keeper Edward could do nothing to protect, and, lastly, Edward’s only remaining swordmaster. Now Edward’s king was without protection.
Edward could do nothing to prevent Vilmos from taking the pieces, only sit back and watch with amazement. Wide eyes replaced the smile. Edward couldn’t maneuver his king out of the trap. In another move it was check. In one more, the game was over.
“Where were you hiding those moves? That was brilliant—your best playing!”
Vilmos held the black king in his hand. The ebony from which it was carved was cold and, though the piece itself was smooth, Vilmos felt as if the carved edges could slice into his fingers. “I just did as you said. I sacrificed the priest to gain the king.”
Edward chuckled. “Do you know in all the years I’ve been playing that I’ve never been defeated? I’ve never lost until just now—and it was a grand loss at that! Brilliant play—you finally started to think like a King’s Mate player and not like a boy playing Cross Rocks!”
“You are the one who told me to think five moves ahead. I tried that, honestly—but it took more than five moves to win. It was like I could see the board in my mind, how it would change with each option, and each option’s option. Paths crisscrossed, the checked spaces of the board blurred and then everything become … became—”
“Real,” said Edward. “Real, as if you were living the game rather than playing. Yes?” Vilmos held out the black king to Edward. Edward took the king and started setting his pieces on the board. “One more game and then we’ll call it a night. Okay?”
Adrina had recounted every moment of the attack to Emel and the mere mention of Oshywon was enough to convince him that the attack was much more than it seemed. If there was anything a summer at High Road taught him, it was this: the lost kingdo
m did not exist and any dim-witted soul who said otherwise ended up at the wrong end of a blade. Gutted, usually neatly—split down the middle like a ripe melon. He had no aspirations to end that way, but he would make inquiries all the same. It was an important tidbit, more so than anything else Adrina had said, too important to let go.
He paced back and forth, his movements erratic. The supply caravan was already a day’s ride away. Ebony could catch them and they could easily make their way to the east—if he was smart, if he would let what was lost stay lost. A few seasons in the Territories, that’s all it would take. He would return, the dark days, the dark desires, would be behind him.
Foolish. Foolish to be sure. Why couldn’t he listen to reason?
He threw up his hands, batted his head against the wall. Crazy. Crazy thoughts—not foolish.
For good measure he batted his head against the wall again but this didn’t bring reason. He picked up his rucksack and went down to the stables, making his way to Ebony. The stalls for the horses of lesser knights and other riders were at the far end.
Ebony was already saddled and bridled. His bedroll, sword and other belongings were in a pack on the ground nearby. The sack he carried now contained mostly food, the necessities of the road: hard bread, jerky, nuts and seed meal.
He checked Ebony’s saddle and rubbed the stallion’s mane. “Soon,” he whispered, “I promise.”
He put the packs in place. The sword went on top of everything, at the ready and, as when riding the High Road, he tucked a half dozen throwing daggers into each side of the saddle. The dagger he tucked into his belt at the back made thirteen. Another thing a summer on the High Road had taught him was how to survive the wilds.
As he rode Ebony out of the stable he shook a fist at the early afternoon sun. He would ride hard, fast. With luck he would catch the caravan near Mellack or Ispeth.
“Chase the wind,” Emel whispered to Ebony as they exited Imtal’s gates, “Chase the wind.” He looked back as he reached the low hills of the Braddabaggon, but by then his resolve was firm.
Ebony reared, turning as if in salute, then carried Emel down the long lonely road ahead.
“Is it or isn’t it?” asked King Andrew. He and Chancellor Yi were the only ones in the council chambers. The others had been dismissed.
“Sire, a moment I beg of you.”
“No more patience this day, Chancellor Yi. Guess if you must—a sensible guess—but a guess all the same! Is it or isn’t it?”
Not one easily bothered, Chancellor Yi maintained his position, the eyepiece fixed in his hand as he studied the parchment paper. “In my opinion—”
“Opinions be damned!” shouted King Andrew, “Tell me!”
“It is. Yes, it is.” Chancellor Yi sat bolt upright and looked directly at the king. He handed Andrew both scrolls, saying, “They are identical. Both penned by the same hand, with the same ink, signed in blood.”
King Andrew handed the chancellor the lamp. “Burn them, burn them!”
“But, sire, the history, these have been—”
Andrew grabbed the scrolls, tossed them into the fire, threw the oil lamp in after to make sure the fire burned hot. “Let fire cleanse this away! We will have not another word of this! Keeper Martin must not know. The elves must not know. Understood?”
Chancellor Yi withstood the king’s glare. “Surely the past cannot be lost forever. The truth of it will be heard. The Alder would not have—”
“The Alder doesn’t have to live in the present. We cannot undo what has been done. Elves and men must remain as they have remained. It is my will—it is also the will of the people. I can feel it, I know this.”
“Their road is a lonely one is it not then? To have come all this way—to have failed.”
King Andrew sighed. The weight of the world was on his shoulders. “It is what it is. No more, no less… Come now, tell me of the spring plans—that’s a subject of less weight.”
Chancellor Yi went back to the table. “The trust deeds for the lands from Heman to Klaive along River Opyl. Your quill, sire.”
King Andrew nodded as he signed the trust deed. Chancellor Yi pressed the royal seal into the paper. “Any troubles with Family Heman?”
“Odwynne Heman took the offer well and gave her word to bide by the agreements. She’s the family matriarch, I don’t expect any dissent. She seemed pleased with the landholdings offered and of the fact that you may possibly hold her favor at court.”
“Has the work begun? Adrina is…” King Andrew’s voice trailed off.
“It will be a grand house—a grand house indeed by spring. Klaive masons are building a protective wall around a large courtyard and construction will start soon. The river trade is good, tree and fir. The coast trade abundant with fish and crab. A place to prosper.”
“A place to prosper,” said Andrew. “Imtal will truly be an empty place then, won’t it?”
“It may be wise to call Valam home, sire. South Province has prospered. The people think him wise, generous—and the Battle of Quashan’ has only further endeared him. His presence in Imtal would be a good thing. If he took charge of the councils and day ceremony, it would further prepare him for the crown. King Jarom will surely see this as a sign of strength—and certainty that the crown will go to Valam is a good thing. His daughter will be of age soon and their binding will be as a consummation of his desires.”
“Indeed,” said King Andrew.
Edward pored over every option. There was visible strain in the air. Vilmos stretched out his arms and shifted frequently in his chair. His backside was sore and numb. They had been sitting for hours. His weariness distracted his attention, but he would not yield.
In the first hours of the game not a piece had been taken or exchanged; the field was held in a careful ballet. Outside the inn the gentle light of morning was forming on the horizon. Neither noticed. Nor did they take note when dawn gave way to the bright sunshine of a new day.
Edward wiped a dew-like perspiration from his brow without taking his eyes from the board or moving his other hand—the hand that rested on his king. He cursed under his breath, moved the king from the center square.
Waiting for Vilmos to make his next move, Edward watched the board, estimating which pieces Vilmos could move where and how he could counter. When Vilmos made the move Edward surmised he would, another offensive push toward center, Edward was ready for the counter. Before moving, Edward checked the alternatives.
A smile formed when Vilmos saw Edward’s move. Suddenly, weariness and fatigue were replaced by elation. He set in with a precise attack—a series of moves he had been saving for the right moment.
The intensity of the game built as Vilmos claimed his stake of Edward’s pieces. On the run, Edward pulled his pieces back to defensive positions to prevent the capture of his king.
The wind outside picked up, though neither noticed; their attention was lost to the board, each carefully deducing the next move, the next counter. Vilmos was ready to make a claim for victory, soon he would push Edward into a corner from which he could not escape. He grinned, purposefully stalled as he sipped from a near-empty glass, brought his hand to the board, perhaps toying with the expectant expression on Edward’s face. He would move the white priestess diagonally up the board to put the black king in check once more.
Vilmos eyed the dark king as he slowly brought the priestess across the board. He was lifting his fingers from the board and Edward was contemplating his next move when the wind outside surged, and in a sudden sweeping crash, the windows of the inn shattered.
Tattered shards still clattered to the floor as a voice rang out, a savage, eerie voice that slurred the words together into a fervent snarl. “Remain seated or you both die!”
Edward looked up from the board. “Can you not see we are in the middle of a game? And you’ll pay for the windows, there was no need for any of that!”
Three hair-covered beasts stood inside the inn, one at the door, the speaker,
with a henchman to either side of him. Edward glared at the intruders. Each was heavily armored in the typical banded mail of their kind, with weapons at the ready.
Edward knew these beasts well. He had seen them many times before, though he had never been a victim of their assault. They were the paid hunters of Under-Earth; the half-animal, half-human race disgusted him. He watched the leader, who was watching him back. Saliva dripping from the beast’s upturned canine fangs as it licked its hair-covered face was a sign. The beast was on a hunt.
“What is it you seek?” asked Edward as he stood, trying both to gain time to think and to place the oddly familiar voice.
Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches Page 50