by Jason Nugent
He shut the phone off and leaned back in the seat, eyes closed. He’d hand off the phone and hope facial recognition could put a name to the two faces. He didn’t understand how the old man did what he did, but he wanted very much to meet him and ask that question.
Twenty-Three
“WHOA!” DEWAYNE SAID. “Man, school's just letting out for the day. You ain't got to do that voodoo stuff. Just watch.”
Rhoden did, but never released his power, ready to cast a spell that would easily take out the front row of the advancing horde, though the expenditure would take a heavy toll on his energy. Sure enough, the loud stream of evacuees, did not move toward him, but instead went to the cars. In minutes a long line of vehicles waited their turn to exit.
From a spot halfway down the building, a door was flung open and armor clad warriors burst out. Rhoden watched with curiosity. They moved toward the football field and began going through a series of warm up maneuvers, preparing for their battle training. Learning how they prepared for battle would be important knowledge.
He moved down the fence to get closer. The warriors formed a square of neat lines, then began doing organized exercises.
“Where are their weapons?”
“Weapons? Ah, if you mean their gear, it's probably stored in that shed.” He pointed at a building where two green shirted men were unlocking double doors.
The door opened again and a group of women exited all wearing the same outfit he witnessed his quarry wearing. Were they warriors as well? In the princesses’ case, he could understand that. Perhaps they were the ladies of court.
His heart raced as he spotted her speaking with a tall dark-skinned woman. Whatever the princess said caused the dark-woman to bark out a loud laugh. They moved on to a grassy area outside the field the warriors worked on.
Rhoden had to get closer. He had to know for sure if it was her. But how?
DeWayne leaned in close to him and whispered. “Hey, man, you got to be cool.”
“Cool?”
“Yeah. You can't be staring at the girls like that or someone will think you're a perv and call the cops.”
Rhoden pointed at the blonde. “I need to see her up close.”
“Ah, define 'up close.' You ain't thinking some sort of sex thing, are you?”
Rhoden stared at him, confused. Then understanding dawned. “No, that is not my intent. I need to make a positive identification. But the only way to do that is to see her up close.”
“It might look strange if we get closer and stare at them. What do you have to see to make this identification positive? You ain't got a picture or something?”
“No. No one has seen her in fifteen years.”
“Then how . . .?”
“She has a mark on her side.”
“On her side. You mean like underneath her clothes. How you gonna see that without getting her undressed? I didn't sign on for anything like that.”
Rhoden continued to observe the young women as they did their own form of warm ups. Forgotten were the warriors who had now broken into smaller groups to work on skills alien in nature to him, but which revolved around an oblong ball.
After their exercise period a few of the girls walked to the fence and removed their heavy outer garments, hanging them from the fence. He slid closer. The tall dark-skinned woman blocked his view as she pulled the garment over her head. He moved away from the fence fast and was in time to see the princess raise her arms to do the same. The undershirt she wore rode up but not far enough to see what he needed.
As the outer garment cleared her head and before she lowered her arms, Phetrix cast a quick spell and with the flick of a finger sent it toward his target. The undergarment billowed as if from a strong breeze and lifted half way up her torso, exposing her midriff. He was only able to get a quick glimpse as the Princess was quick to cover herself, but what he saw caused a gasp loud enough to be heard.
The women turned to face him, all giving him the scrutiny of an outsider who did not belong.
Rhoden averted his gaze. He walked back toward DeWayne.
The taller woman said, “Was that perv eyeing us?”
The other girl, the one he now was sure was the Princess, said, “I didn’t see him. What was he doing?”
“He was watching us take off our sweaters. Guess he thought he was going to see some skin.”
They moved away from the fence and joined the others.
Rhoden did not look back, passing DeWayne and heading toward the car. Once inside, he said, “I have seen what I needed. Drive.”
“Okay, where to?”
“I will direct you, as I am unfamiliar with your paths.”
“Roads.”
“What?”
“They're roads or streets.”
Rhoden nodded. Of course. He knew that. They had dirt roads back home, but he wasn’t sure they were called the same thing here. He ignored the man's chatter. He had found one of the heirs. Mortas would be appeased for now, but it would not last. Once he delivered the girl, he would have to task the Seekers to find the boy. Once they were both delivered he would stay in this world, learn its ways and find a way to become its ruler. Mortas could have his world. Rhoden liked this one.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at a location a block from the seam. “I will need you to return to this spot each day. Sit and wait for my return.”
“What time?”
“From morn to dark.”
“That's a lot of time to be sitting here waiting for you.”
“It is your task. Do not fail me. You will not like the outcome.”
“Okay, sure, I'll be here. Just like you said, but didn't you say something about paying me?”
Rhoden eyed the man, then dug into a pocket. He had one coin hidden in an inner jacket pocket. He removed it and flipped the coin to him. DeWayne snatched it out of the air and studied it. “Hey, what's this?”
“A silver. Keep up your assistance and I'll reward you with gold.” With that, Rhoden got out of the car and walked down the street.
“But, hey wait. This ain't real money. How am I gonna spend this?”
Rhoden continued walking.
“Dee man, what you got yourself into, now?” Dewayne said to himself. He looked at the coin and wondered if it was real silver. If so, maybe this was worth more than he thought. He knew a guy who might know a thing about coins. He looked up and to his surprise, his new boss was gone. He looked around the wide-open space, but he was nowhere to be seen. “What indeed, man?”
Twenty-Four
DAYS AFTER THE STRANGE vision, Phetrix beamed with excitement. He’d barely slept since then, the possibilities now endless for the future.
The sun rose in the bright blue sky and he ventured into Ulti to the corner he frequented when begging for alms. Today, his thoughts weren’t on his begging or listening to pick up gossip. He was more concerned with King Artus and Queen Gresilda. He needed to find them. To let them know their children lived. But the question was, did the King and Queen still live? After all, it had been fifteen years since the fall of the kingdom. They’d been on the run for a long time.
Phetrix was confident that, if they had perished, it hadn’t been at the hands of Mortas. He would have heard. Mortas would have announced to the entire kingdom of their deaths. He would have paraded their bodies through the streets of every town and village. No, Mortas had not found them.
Someone dropped a coin into his bowl. The thunk brought his attention back to the here and now.
“Alms, alms for the poor,” he called out. People dressed in fine clothing dropped coins into his bowl but none bothered to look at him. Guards passed, eying him carefully as though he were a criminal. He averted their gaze, worried they might recognize him after all these years.
“Give to the needy! Please help, I have nothing.”
A fellow beggar he’d known for years stumbled his way, reeking of stale ale and dung.
“Pendra, how’s things?”
&nb
sp; Phetrix acknowledged him with a nod.
“Fine, Kol. How are you?”
Kol staggered when he stepped close, his rank breath forcing Phetrix to step back. “Much better since I had me some ale. Compliments of some guard or another. I don’t really care who.”
Phetrix smiled. “Glad to hear it. I do hope the day is good for you.”
Kol grinned, two of his bottom teeth missing. “Always when I got ale.”
“Say Kol, you were one of King Artus’s guards weren’t you?”
Kol snapped to attention and his swimming eyes focused on Phetrix. He put his hands on Phetrix’s chest and swept his gaze around them. Leaning close, he whispered,
“Don’t say those words out loud if you want me to live,” he whispered. He did another sweep, double-checking that they were alone. “Frost has ears everywhere.” He made a grand flourish with his hands to emphasis his point.
“But you were in his service, were you not?”
Kol’s eyes widened as he scanned the area around them again. He nodded.
“Do you know where he’s hiding?”
He eyed Phetrix with suspicion and scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Dead. They’re all dead. King, Queen, the children . . . those poor little children . . . all dead.”
Phetrix knew it was a long shot asking this man for information, but he had to start somewhere.
“Why this sudden interest in the King’s whereabouts?” Kol asked, his eyes suddenly more focused.
Phetrix hoped he hadn’t made a mistake broaching the subject with this man. If he spoke of this conversation during some drunken stupor, word might get to the wrong people and he would be forced to flee. He thought that time was coming soon anyway, but he wanted it to be at his choosing and not when being pursued by guards.
“I’m getting old, Kol. Sometimes I sit here and my feeble mind wanders. I remember the old days. I recalled seeing the King riding through the countryside, ahead of a large assembly of knights. It was quite a sight. That’s all. Just an old memory.”
Kol nodded. Whatever control it took to keep his eyes clear had faded. “Well, old friend, best to keep those old memories up here,” he tapped Phetrix’s forehead, “and don’t let them escape your mouth.” He laughed, then belched.
“Thanks anyway. I was under the impression the King and Queen still lived. But rumors are never quite accurate, are they?”
“No, no sir they aren’t.” Kol hiccuped and caught himself from falling by reaching out to Phetrix.
“Pendra, you best not share thoughts like that out loud. The ears! The ears will hear and then,” he made a motion across his throat with his finger as though with a knife.
“I understand. Thanks my friend. Good day to you Kol. Maybe you’ve had enough ale for the both of us!”
Both men laughed and Kol stumbled away, scaring a little girl walking with her mother. Not far down the street, two guards accosted him and dragged him kicking and screaming to the magistrate where they no doubt would have him rest off his drunkenness. Eventually he’d be put into service for Mortas.
“Drunkard,” he mumbled.
The day grew gray and a chilled breeze swept into the town. The amount of travelers and market-goes dwindled. Phetrix received few coins and his stomach growled. If it weren’t for the Seekers, he’d use his abilities more, but it was impossible to know when they might pass. Though he hadn’t seen one in a while, he knew they were still searching. Even after all these years, Mortas continued to oppress the people as he sought the heirs, decreeing constant vigilance by the Seekers.
Two years ago Mortas held a massive assembly at the building site of his new castle in the central part of Chevalan. Over three hundred men and women from all over the land attended the spectacle. Phetrix traveled to witness the ceremony as well, though in the guise of the destitute Pendra. Seekers circled the assembly above, their dark shadowy figures swirling and intertwining with one another.
Mortas stood on a wooden platform with Rhoden at his side.
“Thirteen years ago, I deposed a wicked ruler and his family. Today, we celebrate my grand new castle, the seat of your liberty!”
The invited gave a rousing cheer, but the crowd of commoners returned cautious applause.
“That despot is rumored to still be alive.” Someone in the crowd booed, a few others joining. “The time has come to end this charade. I will give any of you who find Artus and Griselde a castle and land of your own. If my Seekers find them first and you come in to claim the prize, you will be exempt from taxes for ten years if you bring them to me.” A loud murmur rose amongst those gathered. Phetrix raised his eyebrows. Ten years of no taxes was a huge benefit. Mortas had claimed more money from the people than any other ruler he’d known.
“Finally, if those children are found, and brought to me alive, I will bring the captor into my family as an adopted son or daughter, with all the rights of a blood-born child.”
This last decree shook the crowd and Phetrix felt a certain energy rise up. It frightened him. The rebellion had grown considerably over the years, though still in hiding. He’d had contact with a few of them over the years, choosing to remain on his own rather than live amongst them. To him, it was a safer choice.
Mortas said something to Rhoden. The evil mage lifted his head skyward, raised his hands, then spread them wide. The Seekers cried out above the assembly and they suddenly burst from their circle and sped out in all directions. The display was a message to the audience of how serious Mortas was about the capture of the royal family.
Mortas brought the attention back to himself.
“The Seekers have gone, searching for my prey. Go, beat them to it and hold me to my word!”
Mortas raised his hands and Phetrix gasped. His hands . . . glowed. Though faint, he caught the sight. Did Rhoden do that? Or . . . did Mortas now posses the ability to wield magic?
He quickly left the assembly, worried that the fight was going to be more dire than he imagined.
Now, as he marched his way through Ulti, he periodically checked the sky for the dark shadows. He hadn’t seen any this day, but they were always there. Somewhere.
Twenty-Five
SEVERAL WEEKS PASSED and Phetrix carefully questioned the other beggars in Ulti. As undesirables under Mortas’s reign, he reasoned they had little to gain from turning him in. Even if they did, they’d face a severe punishment from Mortas for being homeless beggars interfering with his loyal subjects. They were often transient and never stayed in one town for too long.
No one seemed to know anything about the King or Queen. At least if they did, they weren’t sharing the information. Maybe they thought he was a spy and would turn them in? He tried hard to convince them otherwise, but still . . . it could be holding them back.
Hope was fading and he grew desperate. It had been a long time since he’d met with anyone from the rebellion. He worried that maybe they no longer believed they could win. If they’d lost that hope, then Mortas truly did win, no matter if Samuel kept the heirs alive or not. He wouldn’t believe it. He couldn’t give in to despair. Artus and Griselde were alive, somewhere. They had to be.
Phetrix tried a different tactic. He listened for clues from passersby, hoping he’d hear something that would give him a glimmer of truth that he’d follow to the end.
If they were alive, they were never spoken of. Most likely he’d have to find someone to pay for information so he saved everything given to him, resorting to stealing food when hungry, hoping the guards never caught him.
When he figured he had enough coins saved, he went into the village tavern—the Winking Bear—and cautiously waited for some drunk guard or traveler with a loose tongue.
The first night he went, he discovered nothing. The tavern was subdued more than usual and very little information was to be found. The only bit he did discover was that Mortas had directed his Seekers to the west as rumors of the heirs had spread. It was impossible since they were with Samuel in the other world,
but at least it directed Mortas away from the truth.
For the next several nights, nothing of importance bubbled to the surface of the conversations he had with strangers. He pried, he bought more ale, but nothing was shared.
About a week after he started, he was running out of coins and patience. It was a weak plan, but he hoped for more than what he got.
He bought a mug of ale and watched the crowd inside, looking for anyone who might help him with what he wanted. Across the room, a man he didn’t recognize sat against the wall with a large brimmed black hat pulled low over his eyes. Several people approached him through the evening and Phetrix watched more than one drop a few coins on the table for him. Hoping that he might have information to help, Phetrix approached the man.
Before he could say anything, he felt a tug on his arm. He turned and Kol smiled at him.
“Pendra, come over here. It’s been awhile.”
Annoyed at his interruption, Phetrix reluctantly agreed. He watched as more people approached the man who barely spoke a word to them, but nodded as they dropped coins on the table. He’d grown quite a large pile already.
“Kol, I was about to talk to that man. What is it that’s so important?”
“Keep your voice down. You don’t want to go anywhere near him. He works for Frost. He’ll slit your throat before you get your question out.”
“But how did you—“
“Listen to me.” Kol grabbed Phetrix’s cloak and yanked him close. With Kol’s lips touching his ear, he whispered, “The King—?”
Phetrix opened his eyes wide. “Yes?”
“He lives.”
The words rang louder than any bell or explosion he’d ever heard. The destruction of the castle on the night of the attack was nothing compared to those two words. He lives.
Phetrix grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Are you sure? How can this be? How do you know?”