The Ring Of Truth

by B Cameron Lee

  “I do. What of it?” The rich, strongly accented voice came from the deep shadows in the corner by the fireplace. Chalc could have sworn it was empty when he and Arwhon entered the bar. He rarely missed things of that nature. Having begun, Chalc had to keep going.

  “Nothing really, except that I noticed it was a Barsoomi and they’re not common in these parts.”

  “As I said. What of it?”

  Just at that moment the innkeeper bustled back into the bar room wiping dust from a bottle of wine with her dirty apron before placing it on the grimy bar.

  “You’re in luck, I found a couple of glasses too. That’ll be one silver mark boyo.”

  Chalc paid, eying the dusty glasses suspiciously. Then picking up the wine and glasses he signalled to Arwhon and moved slowly over to where the stranger sat.

  “Nothing much, we also have, or rather, my young Master has a Barsoomi too.”

  The stranger relaxed and smiled. Up close they could see he was of middle years and very different from the people of these parts. Dressed in a robe belted at the waist, his hair was long and flowing, shot through with grey and held back from his face by a patterned headband. He wore a longknife at each side, in sheaths attached to his belt. The skin of his face above his beard was dark and weathered from time spent out of doors and Chalc caught a glimpse of an unusual amulet clutched in the stranger’s hand but had difficulty making it out. The stranger signalled them to sit.

  “I know, my Darla has already informed me. How did your Master come by a Barsoomi horse and more interestingly, how was he imprinted?”

  Arwhon chose to answer; his Ring letting him know this person in front of them was a Truth speaker and someone he could trust.

  “It was stolen from its rightful owner and stolen again. I killed the thief who stole it the second time when he tried to kill me. The horse wanted me and I wanted it.”

  The stranger held out his hand. “I am Reynaldo, currently from the Black River Tribe of Barsoom.”

  First Arwhon then Chalc clasped hands with Reynaldo, giving their names, the three men visibly relaxing. Chalc wiped out the glasses with a clean corner of his shirt and dug the cork from the bottle. The wine was surprisingly good. Reynaldo accepted a small amount in his empty tankard. Chalc tested the waters.

  “Is that amulet what I think it is?” he asked. Arwhon looked mystified.

  “Yes.” Reynaldo replied. “It’s a minor magic. Given me by the seeress who instructed me to journey here and wait. It aids concealment.”

  “Wait for what?” Arwhon blurted out.

  Reynaldo looked at Chalc.

  “Impetuous isn’t he?” Then he turned to Arwhon. “You have an honest face so I’ll tell you. I don’t know.”

  He wasn’t lying. The Ring on Arwhon’s finger did not contradict the stranger. Arwhon felt confused and met Reynaldo’s gaze with a questioning face.

  “Oh very well, you won’t be satisfied until you hear the story. About four weeks ago the King’s son and daughter were plucked from their saddles by a Gryffon while they were out riding near the Border country. They had taken enough in the party to protect them but not against a Gryffon. No one from Barsoom has ever seen a Gryffon in recorded history. We thought them legend.”

  “You mean a beast like the one on the sign outside?” Arwhon asked, remembering his fevered dreams or what he thought were fevered dreams.

  “Exactly the same sort of beast young Arwhon. It was larger than the largest horse and its wings stretched many spans. Since the abduction, Martine, Empress Martine as she calls herself, has offered the return of the royal offspring if the King gives her control of Barsoom. He cannot, he is our King but he doesn’t own Barsoom, the people do. He told Empress Martine’s envoy he would have to consult the leader of every Tribe wandering the plains to ask their permission and that would take time to accomplish.”

  Reynaldo took a pull of wine before continuing.

  “Time he needs. He knows the Tribes will not consent. Martine has given him three months. If the answer is no, his children will die a horrible death before being fed to the Gryffon. As to why I am here. The Black River Tribe’s seeress called for me and handed me the amulet before telling me to come here to Forbidden and wait. So here I am. I arrived yesterday.”

  At that moment, loud voices could be heard in the distance, arguing back and forth as they came closer. Reynaldo took a look out of the window. Shock was writ across his face as he leapt to his feet.

  “By all the Fate and tears of the Elders. Kroy!”

  “We’ve already met Kroy. Who is he?” Arwhon ventured.

  “Just one of Martine’s tame jackals. An important one.” Reynaldo spat. “We have to get out of here. There’s not enough room to fight and fight we will have to.”

  They rushed for the door and Chalc stopped in the doorway, quickly checking how far away Kroy and his henchman were before leading the way outside. Duran’s ears were flat against his skull as he stared in Kroy’s direction. Arwhon noted it too. His horse knew who this man was from the night Kroy tried to steal him from the smith’s barn.

  There was a shout as the three of them managed to untie their horses but before they could mount, a band of men had run up to surround them. Arwhon, Chalc and Reynaldo looked all about for a possible exit but found they were ringed by a gang of dirty, ill-kempt ruffians; ill kempt except for their leader, Kroy. Tall and thin faced with a well trimmed beard and dark grey, penetrating eyes. Arwhon recognised him immediately from the ‘Flying Pig’ at Cumbrisia’s End.

  What in the name of Fate was going on?

  Kroy held up his hand, palm out and his group settled down in a semi circle around the horses and their owners, containing them in front of the Lonesome Gryffon. Arwhon stood as still as the others, reins in hand knowing he wouldn’t have time to mount before he was slashed with a sword or dragged off his horse. Luckily, Chalc had left Rancid the mule tied to Tansy by the lead rope and he’d also had time to untie Tansy from the hitching rail. Reynaldo was nearest to Kroy, standing in front of his mare, Darla, with her reins in his hand. He started to slowly move back from the exposed position he was in, intending to mount her. Kroy spoke.

  “Far enough Reynaldo. Yes I know who you are, same as you know who I am. If you move any closer to that horse, you will die.”

  He gestured behind him where two of his men produced crossbows, cocked and loaded.

  “What do you want Kroy?” Reynaldo asked contemptuously.

  “From you, just your horse but that young fellow there has a ring which belongs to me.

  The ring which Ripley was supposed to deliver to me in Cumbrisia’s End after he stole it in Myseline. That Fate-forsaken ring which took so long to track down after Martine ordered it found. How did that boy come by it? Looks like all the eggs are in one basket though. How fortunate for me. And fortunate for the Empress Martine, whose orders I have to follow.

  Let’s see. There are two Barsoomi horses, the ring and a dagger I see and of course my men will want paying, so I’ll need your money as well. Hand it all over and I may let you live.

  Not likely, you’ll all die a slow death.”

  Kroy smiled wickedly, secure in the knowledge that he had superior numbers and raised his arm higher.

  The horses were agitated. Duran was feeling Arwhon’s fear and uncertainty at the events unfolding about him, he also picked up Arwhon’s puzzlement and dread at the real Truth of Kroy’s words, revealed to him via the Ring but being a trained warhorse he knew how to handle himself. All he needed was the right command. Darla was the same, concerned for Reynaldo. Tansy was picking up the edginess of the two Barsoomi horses and Rancid’s long ears were swivelling and laying back along his neck so fast it looked like he might take off. Kroy stood waiting, hand still in the air. Seconds slowly ticked by as no one moved.

  “Well, what is it to be? My arm is starting to tire.”

  Reynaldo cursed and moved his free hand slowly up to his brow, as though to scratch i
t perplexedly. He immediately dropped the amulet over his head as he loosed Darla’s reins and his hands shot to his belt to grab his long knives. As he turned sideways he flickered in and out of vision, the amulet affecting the light around him, but not well enough. Kroy’s arm fell and a crossbow twanged, the bolt whistling under Darla’s neck to imbed itself to the fletching in the side of Reynaldo’s chest. He staggered but still managed to draw and throw his knife at Kroy who slid out of the way with surprising speed. The man standing behind him was not so lucky. He never saw the knife coming and took the blade in his throat, falling to the ground gagging, blood streaming from his gasping mouth.

  Darla went into a frenzy, first rearing back then propping on her front feet to kick back at anyone behind. Duran joined in, they were under attack and it was his job to protect Arwhon. He reared, turning and striking out with his forelegs, scattering Kroy’s men retreating from his deadly, steel shod hooves as he spun around to lash out with the equally fatal hind ones. Tansy and Rancid were off to one side of the action around the two Barsoomi horses but that did not stop Rancid having an aggressive dab whenever anyone came within range and being on the lead rope he had plenty of space to work in.

  Chalc, his sword drawn, stepped over to Reynaldo in the confusion as the man slid to the ground, coughing blood and choking, with a feathered shaft sticking out of his chest. The horses were creating chaos amongst Kroy’s men but it wouldn’t be long before they got past the two Barsoomi’s or a crossbow bolt found one of them. Chalc was supporting Reynaldo as the man visibly sagged, his face getting paler by the second.

  “I’m done Chalc, save my horse and take this amulet; it might be more useful in the future. I don’t understand. Why didn’t it hide me?” With great effort he drew the amulet over his head and handed it to Chalc. Blood was running out of his mouth in torrents now and his breath came in great gasps. “Don’t..........try......to.....fight..........them. Go!” His last word. With an oath, Chalc lowered the dead man to the ground and yelled at Arwhon.

  “ARWHON! Get mounted! There are too many to fight. Reynaldo’s dead and we have to leave. NOW!”

  This last shouted word spurred Arwhon into action. He had been uncertain what to do, never having been in such a situation before. With no time to resheath his sword, Arwhon flung the reins over Duran’s head and with a shaking left hand grabbed the pommel of his saddle and vaulted into it, the weight of his chainmail forgotten in the melee. Duran only stood still long enough to allow him aboard before he started to kick out at the thugs again. Seeing Chalc now aboard Tansy, Arwhon touched his heels to the side of Duran, broadcasting thoughts of leaving in a hurry.

  They fled.

  Crouching low in their saddles, while the horses bowled over a few brave but stupid ruffians who stood before them and ducking lower to avoid a couple of hastily fired crossbow bolts which shot over their heads, they raced for the eastern exit from the town square. Arwhon had already felt what a crossbow bolt could do and had no wish to repeat the experience. He glanced over his shoulder to see Chalc close behind, with Rancid, on the lead rope, galloping as fast as Tansy, his legs going twenty to the dozen. Darla was with them, riderless, running with mane and tail flying. They thundered through the rest of the dismal town, drumming hooves on cobbles echoing off the walls of squalid cottages but not a living soul did they see. This place was palpably evil. It felt more evil to Arwhon than anything he had ever experienced before in his short life.

  Clearing the last of the hovels and getting back out into cleaner air made him feel a little calmer, although he was keeping the shock of Reynaldo’s death in tight rein. Arwhon was not inured to death, although it had intruded into his life far too much lately but that was no way for a good and honest man to die, taken by a crossbow bolt fired by a cowardly thug. He would remember Kroy’s actions and the next time they met, if he had a chance, Kroy would be destroyed.

  They galloped on for a short while but slowed to a walk as the last of the daylight began to fade. The worn and uneven road surface would be treacherous in the dark and the moons were far from full. Tansy was labouring badly and Chalc brought Arwhon’s old horse up beside Duran so he could talk to Arwhon.

  “With any luck their horses will not have been saddled. We have to slow down now, Tansy’s not right, her breathing’s very noisy.”

  Arwhon looked over and saw frothy blood bubbling from Tansy’s flaring nostrils.

  “Chalc, stop. Right now. Tansy’s bleeding from the nose.”

  With a curse, Chalc gently pulled the old horse up and leaped from the saddle. Tansy just stood, splay legged, heaving for breath with her head drooping. A pool of blood spread rapidly on the ground in front of her. Chalc walked around the horse, inspecting her closely then bent to loosen the girth and allow more air into her lungs before cursing savagely. There, just behind the stirrup leathers, a few inches of a crossbow shaft could be seen, half the feathers of the fletching embedded deep in her flesh. The quarrel had driven between Tansy’s ribs and deep into her left lung. While Chalc watched, Tansy shuddered and groaned before collapsing gracefully onto her side. A long sighing breath left her body.

  Dead.

  Arwhon and Chalc faced each other, disbelieving, tears springing to Arwhon’s eyes unbidden.

  “She was a brave old horse to run like that with a quarrel in her chest,” was all that Chalc could offer, his head bowed in sorrow.

  “A brave horse.”

  As he stood there rigid with anguish, Chalc felt a breath on his neck and turned to see Reynaldo’s horse, Darla, standing right behind him.

  “Aye lass, you’re grieving also. I am sorry; Reynaldo was a fine and honest man. I wish I could have known him better.”

  Darla’s head came up and they locked eyes. Chalc felt a surge all the way from the base of his feet to the top of his head and sensed the horse’s grief well through him in great waves, enough to start tears springing in his eyes. Then there was something like a voice in his head.

  Darla’s.

  “You will. I’ll tell you all about him as we ride. His life was sacrificed so you could have the amulet, and me, if you’ll have me.”

  In answer, Chalc stepped forward and fiercely hugged Darla’s neck, his tears spilling over slanted eyes to run down his face and wet the Barsoomi mare’s coat. He was overwhelmed by emotions he had not felt since his life was torn apart by the death of his wife and children.

  Catharsis and healing had begun.

  Arwhon and Chalc could do no more for Tansy so they untied Rancid and attached his lead rope to Darla’s saddle before removing the saddlebags from the dead horse. Worrying Kroy could already be in pursuit left no time to remove the saddle itself and there was no way to carry it. Chalc hurriedly removed Tansy’s bridle though, before they pushed the old horse off the edge of the road to try to conceal the body. After Tansy slid down the bank it took but a moment to transfer Chalc’s saddlebags to Darla’s saddle, strapping them on over Reynaldo’s.

  Urgently remounting, they quickly set off down the road again.

  Master and Servant rode for the rest of the night at a fast walking pace so as not to injure the horses. Only a fool cantered in the dark. They needed to safely put as much distance between Forbidden and themselves as they could.

  “Kroy is in the employ of Empress Martine.” Arwhon mentioned to Chalc as they walked the horses along the dark road, dimly lit by a setting half moon while the other quarter moon still hung above them.

  “He knew about the Ring, it was stolen from somewhere in Myseline. Petrad must have killed their thief, Ripley, and taken the Ring, along with the dagger and Duran. Kroy wasn’t expecting the dagger.”

  “What do you mean he knew about the Ring?” Chalc enquired as he glanced across at Arwhon.

  “Empress Martine asked him to find it. Seems as though she knew where it was.”

  Chalc appeared puzzled.

  “How would she know about it, unless someone told her? I wonder who it was who knew of th
e Ring in the first place.”

  As the first glimmer of light lit the eastern horizon ahead, Chalc nosed Darla off the road and let her find her own way down through the trees to a clearing surrounded by thick undergrowth. It was ideal for concealment and would offer grazing for Duran, Darla and Rancid. Arwhon and Chalc removed the packs and saddles from the tired animals and curried them well before letting them go without hobbles. Rancid would stay with the horses and the Barsoomi’s did not need hobbling. While Arwhon unpacked the food, Chalc walked back up through the trees to the road and brushed away their tracks leading to the resting place.

  Tired as Arwhon and Chalc were, they managed to eat a cold breakfast, a fire being out of the question, before Arwhon rapidly dropped off to sleep sitting propped up against a tree with his cloak wrapped around him. Chalc woke him after an hour and took his turn to rest. Being lax now could cost them their lives. An hour later, Arwhon woke Chalc and they saddled the horses and were back on the road before the sun had risen half way up into the sky. No more staying in towns and villages, they were safer camping out where they could not be ambushed so easily. As they left their makeshift camp, a diminutive figure, in a black cloak with the cowl pulled up, watched them go. The eyes in that smooth face under the cowl were totally black and the skin a pasty white. The small mouth smiled amusedly. The breeze, blowing from the east, did not ruffle the cloak at all.

  7. M’Herindar.

  Sihron’del reclined beside the gently flowing stream, allowing the cool, fresh water to trickle over her hand and run through her fingers. Numerous small fish nibbled at them. She delighted in sitting at this particular spot where the trees thinned enough each side of the watercourse to create a sunny patch of ground at odds with the shadowy Darkwood around her.

  The music of the stream was comforting and ever changing as the crystal clear water ran over and around small rocks and pebbles, creating eddies and swirls which drifted along with the water current. Emerald green grass, growing down to the water’s edge, provided a cushioned seat for her and the dappled sunlight, filtering through the leafy branches high above, was warm on her supple, lithe body beneath the thin silky gown Sihron’del was expected to wear while she was home.