Jenka gulped down his unease, sipped deeply from his tankard, and went into an abbreviated version of his hunt for the stag and the mayhem that came after. The only portion he left out was the part about his conversation with Jade. He didn’t mention it, but he didn’t hide the fact that the dragon had returned to kill the trolls and save him. He threw in a few words about Rikky, just as he had promised he would do, but he doubted that the name even registered with the king. When he was up to the point where the red dragon had swooped on them, he paused and sipped deeply. King Blanchard and his two King’s Guards, as well as Herald, Prince Richard, and a man who was most likely Master Zofel, were all looking at him with a strange sort of reverence.
“Well. That is remarkable. But it’s not a troll war now, is it? I’d like to hear Kember’s side of it, too,” the king said to Herald. “I trust that man’s judgment till the end.”
“Aye,” Herald agreed with a nod and a raise of his tankard. “Marwick’s a good `en, but he’s after them bastards that killed his charge.”
Jenka was feeling better now that he had eaten a few bites of fruit and some bread. He took in a deep breath and decided to plunge into what he now felt he had to do, no matter what the consequences were going to be for it.
“That was just the beginning. King Blanchard, Prince Richard,” Jenka respectfully attracted their attention. “The Druida Zahrellion is right. The trolls are coming out of the hills in droves. Herald knows it, and so does Commander Corda. We spotted scores of tracks around the lake. They may have a leader now, and that makes them a little more dangerous because now they have a purpose. They figured out that if the kingdom seat moves to the mainland, then they will be driven deeper into the mountains, which brings up the other matter at hand.” Since both the king and the Prince were listening intently, he decided to take advantage of the moment. “There are dragons, the druids call them mudged, that are feral like the trolls. They are the foolish ones we sometimes catch and kill. There are also other, purer strains of dracus, the whites, greens, and blues; the ones that we only see in the sky. They don’t want the trolls forced back into the peaks into their territory. They—”
“This is ludicrous,” King Blanchard cut in. “The dragons are dragons and the trolls are trolls. I’ll take you down to the royal armory on the morrow, boy, and you can look upon the dragon head that sits down there. It once belonged to the wyrm who maimed my grandmother, Queen Marilla, right before these very eyes.” He pointed two meaty fingers back at his chubby face. “That wyrm was as blue as the sky itself, and cunning. I saw the intelligence in its eyes. It would tell any tale that would get it what it wanted, I assure you. In the end, just like in the beginning out on Gull's Reach, it will be us or them. There’s no sense putting off the confrontation. And of course the trolls don’t want the kingdom seat to move, and as soon as they can breach our Great Wall they can have a say in the matter. But how, boy? How are they going to do it? How can you even begin to speculate what the trolls and dragons think? They are beasts, mighty beasts, but beasts nonetheless.”
“The lass is a powerful mage, Highness, and as bold as they come,” Herald said into the silence. His grim tone conveyed the seriousness of his words. “I en't no fool. There truly be something to all of this. I seen her blast ripples through the sky and damn near kill that big red wyrm that attacked her and Jenka by the lake. And I seen an awful lot of troll sign, just like the boy said. The girl thinks that the mudged wyrms are going to side up with the trolls. If they did that, then our Great Wall won’t hold `em back long.”
King Blanchard paled a few shades as the possibilities sank into his fleshy head.
“Has she spoken with a dragon? Have you?” Prince Richard looked at Jenka hard. He left the table where he had been helping the Message Master and the scribe sort through the unorganized satchels of missives, and moved to stand near his father’s side. “How have you come to believe what it is you are telling your king?”
Jenka met the Prince’s eyes, and a sudden dawning struck him then. The Prince was the future of the realm. He was the other person who had bonded with a dragon. Jenka gave the slightest twitches of his head, then acted dumb. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, sir.”
“Here! Here it is,” Master Zofel exclaimed, more to the scribe beside him than anybody else. He was ignored until he let out a saddened sigh and said, “Oh, dear heavens, no.”
Prince Richard held Jenka’s gaze, while everyone else looked at Master Zofel for an explanation. Jenka gave the Prince a short, affirmative nod, and the relief that flooded into the future king was plainly visible. Both turned to face Master Zofel as he started to read the little scroll he had found.
“My liege,” the message began. “The Stronghold gates have been opened for the people of the frontier, and as many men as can be spared have been sent out to call them in, but only until the enemy comes at us here. The trolls are organizing under some sort of Goblin King, who rides the back of a nasty black wyrm that he has put under his command. I would not believe these things myself had not eleven of my men been killed by the thing. There are other witnesses and other victims, too. Also other dragons have been seen in the skies here in Three Forks. They have been swooping on the herds left in the pastures. The trolls, along with packs of their smaller goblinkin, are ransacking the frontier villages and settlements. Weston has been decimated. I fear that the men you are shipping will not number nearly enough. There has been no word from Kingsmen’s Keep, or Copperton, and that is not the worst of the news I bear.
“A man you respect, one the frontier's greatest men, Marwick Kember, was killed by a troll as he was tracking bandits.”
“No,” Jenka sobbed, as tears came filling up and over his eyes. He was so overcome with sorrow over the loss of Master Kember that he didn’t even realize that nothing had been said about Crag.
The Message Master read on, but a little more sympathetically. “Kember’s charge, one Rikky Camile, was maimed in the attack, but he survives. He witnessed this Goblin King as well. I granted him a boon for his service. He will be sending a message by swifter to his companion, one Jenka De Swasso, who I think you will find to be of interest. Your Ranger, the two druids I told you of in my last report, and the De Swasso boy, all left Three Forks three days ago, and have most likely been at sea for a day or more as this is takes the wing. It is possible that you will receive this before they arrive. The ba... The bo…” Master Zofel harrumphed and then coughed back an emotional sob. He strode round the tables quickly, and completely ignoring the two guardsmen and the Prince, stooped over King Blanchard’s shoulder and pointed out where he had stopped reading.
King Blanchard read to himself from where the other man had stopped. He let out a long, slow breath and then removed Master Zofel’s hand from the parchment. After a very long pause, filled with naught but Jenka’s quiet sniffling, he went on. “Crag’s been taken, too.” The king said, matter-of-factly. “No matter what you hear, Jenka, have faith that Commander Brody will honor your father’s sacrifice. He is an honorable man, and he has sworn to do so, as did Kember. If it was possible, Brody got your mother to the Keep. I’m sure of it.”
Jenka put his face down on the table and let out a long, slow, keening wail. The long week of travelling, and the last few days of sickened exhaustion had finally taken their toll. Jenka’s emotions had combined into a torrent, and the restraining dam could hold them back no longer. He was sobbing unashamedly before the king and future-king of men. He felt hollow and ill, and the sobs that wracked his haggard body caused his stomach muscles to clench, but he didn’t care. Master Kember, Solmon, and possibly his mother were all dead.
“Come, friend,” Prince Richard put a hand on Jenka’s elbow and gently helped him to his feet. “Master Zofel and Wilam here will escort you to your chambers in the guest apartments. At this point, it’s clear that rest is the thing you need most. We have much more to discuss here, and it would be unfair to subject you to it all.” He gently helpe
d Jenka to his feet and handed him off to the Message Master. With a nod, one of the guardsmen held open a door for them.
Once they were gone, King Blanchard ordered one of his guards to go fetch the druids. “Do it with grace, Garner,” he added as the man was exiting the annex. “I’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot with that girl.” He turned to the other guard. “You can stand watch outside the door. When Garner returns, let the druids in. Then have him round up Admiral Wheetly and the master commander. Make sure that there are plenty of runners about the hall. We will have need of them. I fear this will be a long evening. Send to the harbor and have two, no, three ships immediately cleared for the transport of men and their gear to the mainland.”
Jenka was in a daze, as he was led through the grand castle. Down long, carpeted corridors lined with tapestries and fancy brass lantern sconces they went, under arched openings and through halls lined with standing suits of polished armor. They passed people of all sorts, then went into a wide open, eight-sided rotunda with a ceiling made from stained glass that rose a hundred feet above their heads. They went up a wide, marble stairway that climbed in a segmented spiral around the inside of the wall. Finally, Master Zofel urged them across a landing, to a set of hand-carved, oaken doors, with the image of a giant falcon’s head carved into them. The predator bird’s beak came to a point just above the floor where the two doors met. The bird’s intimidating eyes were set in a fierce stare, as if it were about to swoop out of the sky and snatch you. Small brass ring knockers accented the falcon’s sharply focused pupils, but they didn’t have to use them. The doors swung silently open as they neared. Jenka would have thought it magic had a servant man of middling years not scurried out of their way from behind the doorway.
There was another long, lushly decorated hall beyond the portal. It was lined with more sets of oaken double doors, all carved with falcons in various states of being. One door had a bird flying high over a well-detailed forest of skyward-reaching pines. Another had a falcon splashing into the water with claws extended. The head and tail of a fish could be made out behind the tiny, misshapen droplets of water that hadn’t been left out of the pristine detail. Jenka was led to another door with the image of an ancient tree trunk that still sported a few of its heavier branches. High upon one of them a lone falcon was preening itself in the warm summer sun. The fact that Jenka could discern what the creature was doing and the weather of the scene on the carved wooden slab was a testament to the skill of the craftsman. Though he was feeling lost and miserable, and more afraid than he had ever felt in his life, Jenka couldn’t help but marvel at the work.
Inside the immaculately furnished room was a tray of warm meat and bread, set beside a clay pitcher of water and a wash basin. The aroma of the offering found Jenka’s nose, but he had no desire to eat. He went straight to the fancy, down-filled four poster bed and fell headlong into it. Master Zofel and the scribe were quickly forgotten as a fresh wave of despair caused Jenka to bury his head in the pillows and scream out. He didn’t even hear the door close behind his escorts as they left him and, mercifully, he found a deep and dreamless slumber soon after they had gone.
Chapter Thirteen
At some point during the night, Jenka had awoken and disrobed. In the late morning, he was pulled from his dark slumber by a raucous cheer wafting up through an open window. He rose to find that he was naked save for his small cloths. There was a different tray of food on the table, as well as a small fold of paper with a handwritten note on it. He washed his face in the basin and ate half of a sugary pastry before the cause of the previous night’s grief crept back into his mind. A tear slid down his cheek for Master Kember, but he held back the flow, hoping in his heart of hearts that his mother and Lemmy were locked up safely behind the impenetrable walls of Kingsmen’s keep, and that little Rikky would find the strength to survive his crippled condition. He wondered about his best friend Grondy and his family back in Crag. Hopefully they had all gotten to Kingsmen’s Keep safely. He refused to believe otherwise. After he forced down the rest of the sweet roll, he picked up the message. It read:
For the sake of propriety, you will be referred to as Sir Jenka De Swasso for the remainder of your stay. The attendant standing outside your door will retrieve for you anything you request, and when you are presentable, he will lead you to the terrace that overlooks the tourney grounds. We are all here enjoying the excitement of the joust, and would enjoy it even more if you would join us.
The message was signed by the queen herself, which astounded Jenka. He didn’t really want to go, but he felt he had to. Master Kember would have wanted him to witness the events and to study the various techniques used in the different competitions. They had discussed as much as they were riding out of Crag. Solman and Rikky had been excited about the competitions, too, but they would never get to be a part of that now. Jenka suddenly realized how raw his sorrow was, and it was just too much for him to bear.
A lump the size of a fist formed in his throat and he choked back a sob. More tears fell then, as the uncontrollable sobbing took over. Jenka curled up on the floor into a fetal ball and began rocking to and fro. It was nearing the noon hour when he finally exited his room and asked the waiting man to take him to the terrace.
The cheering was coming in regular intervals now, and could be heard anywhere there was an open window. Jenka had gotten himself under control, and though he was filled to brimming with grief and worry, he was intrigued by the idea of seeing an actual joust. Master Kember had been training Jenka and the other hunters to track by sign and other practical woodsman necessities such as horsemanship, archery, and common herb lore for years. The group had never much concerned themselves with swords, spears, or jousting. There wasn’t much need for fighting other men in the frontier. Jenka was curious as always, and a little eager, not only to see the remaining competitions, but to see Zah and to tell her that Prince Richard was the third of them. He also wanted to find out what had transpired in the annex after he had crumbled before them all. Surely King Blanchard had declared war on the trolls and was sending the might of the kingdom’s army to bear down on the frontier.
The sound of the crowd's cheering suddenly grew very loud. They had come to an airy, three-sided room that opened onto an extended balcony. Jenka was still under the ceiling's shadow, but out in the bright sunlight, leaning against a fancy marble rail, a small group of finely-attired people were gathered, looking down at something that held them captivated. A score of people in all, counting servants and attendants, were there. Jenka’s companions and the royal family, as well as a few highly ranked Kingsmen and their ladies, cheered and applauded happily. There were other noble folk, separated clearly from the common folk by their ornate jewelry and richly colored garments. They, too, were celebrating whatever had just happened down on the tiltyard.
Another cheer resounded, the sound coming from everywhere around Jenka. Zahrellion glanced back as she was clapping, and her beautiful smile beamed even brighter at him. For a heartbeat, she looked like some alien goddess from a bard’s tale as the triangle tattoo on her forehead twinkled in the sun. Her smile briefly sagged into a line of grim sympathy, but only for a moment. Then she peeled herself away from the rail and hurried over to greet him.
She met him with a fierce hug and whispered up into his ear that she was sorry about Master Kember. She held him for a moment, then reached up on tipped toes and kissed his cheek sweetly. “Your mother is surely in the Keep with Lem. He is more than half elvish, you know. He could move around the trolls without them even knowing he was there. You didn’t know it, but he was once at the Druidom with Linux and me. He is strong. He has so much elvish blood flowing in him that he ages slower. He is nearly seventy years old, but looks like a boy. If he’s looking after your mother, then she is safe, I promise you.”
Jenka had to shake the surprise from his head so that he didn’t forget what he was so excited about. If he didn’t want to tell her about his realization so badly
, he might have broken down again while she was hugging him. As it was, the information about Lemmy was so shocking, and yet obviously true, that he couldn’t find any words at all. The Rangers had always treated Lemmy differently than anyone else, and Lemmy had never been a boy as Jenka and the others had. At least not that Jenka could remember. He couldn’t remember quiet, golden-haired Lem ever being any different at all. He didn’t want to get sidetracked, so he shook his head clear again and jumped right in.
“Prince Richard is our third!” Jenka exclaimed. “He is the future of the kingdom. That’s why Crystal couldn’t tell us who he was!”
Zah’s eyes blinked a few times as the idea of it registered, then her mouth curled into a satisfied smile. “You’re just in time to see him compete. He goes second, after the joust they will soon be announcing.”
She took Jenka’s hand in hers and led him toward the rail. As they approached, Herald and Linux both turned and gave Jenka a stiff nod. The queen saw him, too, and she stifled a smile into a compassionate, tight-lipped line. She gave a polite wave before tugging at her husband’s sleeve and speaking. Her words were lost in the cheers, but Jenka thought he read her lips saying Jenka De Swasso as she nodded in his direction. King Blanchard didn’t bother to turn and look at him, but he nodded once so that his wife would get out of his ear.
Jenka took the rail at Zah’s side and had just started to take in the tourney grounds below when Prince Richard’s man, Squire Roland, eased up behind him.
“The king would have a word, Sir Jenka,” the squire said politely. “After that, Prince Richard would have you and Druida Zahrellion down on the field for a private word before he competes.” His proper usage of her title pleased Zahrellion, but she didn’t take her eyes from the tiltyard.
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