Aside from the dropping temperatures and light snow, travel was pleasant. Malstisos was open, friendly, and free with his humor. Millet couldn’t help but being pleased to have him along, and his skill as a hunter came in handy, as did his ability to know when harsh weather was coming.
They had done well avoiding other travelers, and only once had they been forced to seek shelter at a village inn. Malstisos insisted on accompanying them, stating his desire to see humans from other parts of the world. At first Millet and Maybell objected, but soon realized that he could remain unnoticed even in a crowded tavern.
They were three days outside of Hazrah when they encountered the first indication that things had changed in the north since Millet had last been there. Malstisos stopped abruptly and led Millet and Maybell into the nearby brush.
“Wait here and keep silent,” he whispered, then disappeared into the woods parallel to the road.
Maybell and Millet did their best to stay hidden and keep the horses calm, but as the minutes passed the cold set in. Maybell began to shiver uncontrollably. Millet held her close in an attempt to keep her warm. At first she tried to shake him off, but eventually relented. Thirty minutes later Malstisos returned, his expression grave.
“Five soldiers are camped three hundred yards down the road,” he said. “They bear a standard I’m unfamiliar with, though admittedly I know little of human nations in the north.”
“What did it look like?” asked Millet.
“Red with a gray background, and it bore the image of broken scales.”
Millet and Maybell looked at each other. “That’s the standard of Angrääl,” grumbled Millet. “We must not let them see us.”
“We should go around then,” said Malstisos. He turned to Maybell, “I’m sorry, but we cannot rest yet.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Maybell. “It’s not riding that bothers me, it’s standing still that chills old bones. Lead on.”
Malstisos led them northeast, away from the road and through forest. Millet could feel the wind picking up as it howled through the bare limbs of the trees. They rode for two hours before Malstisos finally called for a halt and built a small fire.
“Rest here,” said Malstisos. “I’ll scout ahead.” He pulled a small flask from his pack and handed it to Maybell. “Drink this. It will help you stay warm.”
“What is it?” she asked. “Not jawas tea I hope.”
Malstisos smiled warmly. “It’s elf brandy,” he said. “A small sip should take the chill away. I’ll return before dawn.” He strode off into the woods.
Millet watched Maybell’s hands trembling with the cold as she lifted the flask to her lips. The concern showed on his face.
“I’m fine,” said Maybell. “Quit looking at me like that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But please understand I’m only thinking of your well-being. Even a young man couldn’t stand this cold for very long.”
“Then worry about yourself,” she said. The warm rush of brandy filled her, putting color back into her cheeks. “I may be an old woman. But you’re no spring chicken either.”
Millet laughed as Maybell passed him the flask. “Point taken.”
Neither of them was able to sleep. The fire and the brandy kept them warm, but soon the howl of wolves mixed with the howl of the wind.
“How close do you think they are?” asked Maybell, trying her best to hide her fear.
“Not far from the sound of it,” he answered. “But don’t worry. Wolves rarely trouble travelers, and they won’t come near the fire.”
Malstisos returned just as the sun was breaking the horizon. “There is a garrison due east of here bearing the same standard as the other soldiers,” he said. “But I have found a way around that should keep us out of sight.”
“If they have built a garrison this close to Hazrah, then it’s likely they’ve already taken the city itself,” said Millet. “The king would never allow a foreign army to go unchallenged so near to the capital.” He turned to Maybell. “There is a mining village a day’s ride from here. I have a friend there who can shelter us while we gather information and form a plan. I don’t want to march headlong into the sights of Angrääl unless there is no other choice.”
“If Hazrah has fallen, this trip may have been for naught,” said Malstisos. “The garrison is organized, and they are well prepared. Whoever leads them is no fool. Entering the city unnoticed may be impossible.”
“If getting into the city unnoticed isn’t an option then we’ll hide in plain sight,” Millet replied. “This is not my first dangerous mission.”
“I may be able to help,” said Maybell. “If your friend can get word to the Hazrah temple, then perhaps they can find us a way in.”
“There may not be a temple to contact,” said Millet. “Remember what Salmitaya did to the temples in Kaltinor?”
Maybell’s heart ached at the thought. “I should have killed her when I had the chance.”
“Don’t second guess yourself,” replied Millet. “Your actions were correct and merciful. I, for one, am glad you spared her. Once her masters discover her failure, I’m sure they will be less than pleased. I doubt that her comfortable life in Kaltinor will last for much longer.”
“I hope you’re right.” Maybell wiped a tear from her cheek.
Millet explained to Malstisos their position relative to the mining village so that he could scout ahead for patrols. As it turned out, they were forced to change direction three times to avoid detection. When they eventually reached the edge of the village, they hid behind some bushes and watched for a time. No soldiers came into sight, so Millet told Maybell and Malstisos to wait while he entered and made contact with his friend.
“I don’t like you going alone,” said Maybell.
“Until we know what’s going on, we can’t risk being taken together,” he replied. “I'll need to talk to Markus and make sure it’s safe.”
“Don’t worry, Maybell,” said Malstisos. “If he is taken, I will free him.”
“Fine,” said Maybell, scowling. “Who is this Markus person anyway?”
“He’s the foreman of the Kessel copper mine,” said Millet. “He and I were good friends when we were young.”
“How do you know you can still trust him?” she asked.
“I don’t. But when we were young he was the most honest and dependable man I knew. Besides, it’s either this, or we ride blindly into danger. I’d rather try to escape from here than from the city gates.”
“If you are captured, be certain to make enough noise so that I know to come get you,” said Malstisos.
“Absolutely,” Millet agreed.
Millet scanned the area one final time to make certain he wasn’t being watched, and then hurried to the nearby street. Malstisos handed Maybell the flask of elf brandy, which she gratefully accepted. An hour later, Millet returned.
“I spoke to Markus,” he said. “He offers us food and shelter.”
“What news of Hazrah?” asked Malstisos.
“It’s not good,” he replied. “We can discuss it at Markus’ house. Keep your hood on until we’re inside. Markus knows you’re with me, so there will be no reason to hide your identity once we get there.”
Millet led them into the village. It was typical of a mining town, mostly single-story wooden buildings built for utility rather than aesthetics. The streets were empty aside from a few workers on their way home from the mines.
Being the mine foreman, Markus lived in one of the larger houses. Even so, it was still not much bigger than the average farmhouse. Millet tied the horses to a nearby hitching post, then walked straight up to the door and opened it. The interior was modest yet comfortable. A sturdy dining table was already set for the evening meal at the far end of the great room, and a fire crackled in the fireplace just inside the door. A balding, stocky man with deep-set eyes and a weathered face stood next to the table slicing a loaf of fresh bread. He looked up and smiled as the party entered.
“Welcome,” said Markus. “Please have a seat. Supper will be ready shortly.”
“Thank you, old friend,” said Millet. “This is Maybell and Malstisos.”
Markus walked over and took Maybell’s hand. “My lady, you are most welcome. A Priestess of Ayliazarah is sorely needed here.”
Maybell curtsied. “I cannot tell you how grateful we are for your hospitality.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he replied and turned to Malstisos. “And you must be the elf Millet told me of. Truly the world is changing.”
Malstisos smiled and bowed low. “I am at your service and in your debt.”
Markus smiled broadly. “Not at all. Millet is an old friend, and his friends are mine.”
They sat at the table while Markus passed around the bread and retrieved a small pot of beef stew from the stove. “I’m sorry that there’s not more, but this is considered a feast in these dark times.”
Millet reached in his purse and brought out a gold coin. “Take this.” He pushed the coin to Markus.
Markus pushed the coin back, shaking his head. “I don’t need the money, my friend. It's food we lack here. Most of what we have is sent north to feed the armies of Angrääl. I’m one of the lucky ones. As foreman, I’m given extra provisions.”
“So the Dark Knight has taken Hazrah,” said Malstisos.
Markus stared down at the table. “He has. And he’s brought misery with him. Of course, they call him the Reborn King, and not the Dark Knight.”
“How long ago did his armies arrive?” asked Malstisos.
“Three months ago. But his agents were here long before that. They negotiated our surrender. We didn’t even put up a fight.”
“Why not?” asked Millet. “The King’s army could have held out for years. The city walls have never been breached.”
“I don’t know,” said Markus. “Those kinds of questions land you in prison these days. As far as the King’s army is concerned, most have been sent north to Angrääl. Some have returned carrying the banner of our conquerors. It’s like The Dark One is trying to eat the world and we're the appetizer.”
“What of Lady Nal’Thain?” asked Millet. “Is she well?”
“If that’s why you’ve come, you’ve wasted your time,” replied Markus. “No one has seen or heard from the house of Nal’Thain for weeks. The rumor is that the Lady has been sent north, but I don’t know how much truth there is in that.”
Millet lowered his head. “What of her son?”
“I’m afraid that I have no news of Jacob’s whereabouts. There are whispers that he was the one who convinced the King to surrender. After that, he seems to have vanished.”
“I don’t believe it,” cried Millet. “The son of Lee Nal’Thain would not betray his people.”
“I only know what I hear,” said Markus. “Whether there is truth in this - who knows?”
“We must find them,” said Millet. “Can you get us inside the city?”
“I doubt it. They check everyone coming in or going out. But I may be able to help. I make monthly production reports to the city clerk, and the next one is due in two days’ time. I could try and contact them for you.”
“What about the temples?” asked Maybell. “I could claim to be sent from Baltria. Certainly they wouldn’t stop a priestess?”
“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” said Markus, unable to meet Maybell's eyes. “But the temples have been shut down. They house Angrääl’s soldiers now.”
“What?” she cried. “Foul beasts!”
“I’m sorry,” said Markus. “Worship of the gods is forbidden now. Most of the priestesses and monks were sent north for re-education a week after the soldiers arrived.”
“I still can’t believe that the King has done nothing to stop this!” said Millet.
“The time is long past for the King to take action,” said Markus.
“Is there no resistance?” asked Malstisos.
“There was at first. But Angrääl crushed it. I know you won’t want to hear this, Millet, but it was Jacob Nal’Thain who helped them rout out the resistance. This I saw with my own eyes.”
Millet shook his head, rubbing his temples. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally said. “I was sent to retrieve My Lord’s family, and I will do as he has commanded me.”
Markus sighed. “Very well. Tonight you and your friends will sleep in the basement. I will leave in the morning. But I cannot promise that I will succeed.”
“I thank you for your help, old friend,” said Millet. “I know how much you’re risking by aiding us. You can come with us if you wish. We can offer you sanctuary.”
“My place is here with my men. I cannot abandon them.”
“I understand,” said Millet.
After their meal, Millet retrieved their packs from the horses, which were then put in a small stable behind the house. Markus gave each of them extra bedding and led them into the basement. “Please keep as quiet as possible,” he said. “The soldiers rarely check my house, but a little extra caution won’t hurt.” He walked up the stairs and closed the door. The clank of the latch echoed throughout the basement.
“I don’t like being trapped,” said Malstisos. “If we are discovered, there is only one way out.”
“I don’t like it either,” agreed Maybell.
“What choice is there?” said Millet. “We are asking Markus to take a huge risk. If he says we should stay here, I must trust him.”
“I hope your trust is justified,” remarked Malstisos. “Hardship can do strange things to a person’s loyalty.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying,” said Millet. “I’ve known Markus for more than forty years. He is as solid and honest a man as I’ve ever known.”
“We shall see,” said Malstisos.
They set up their bedding and went to sleep. Bad dreams troubled Millet, causing him to wake up several times. Eventually he decided to forgo sleep completely and spent the rest of the night huddled in a corner. After a few hours, he heard the door slowly creak open. Malstisos woke immediately and drew his knife. Maybell stood up and moved behind him.
“What?” Millet asked in dismay.
“There are a dozen soldiers upstairs,” Markus announced as he descended the steps. “If you don’t disarm, they’ll burn you alive down here.”
“Traitor,” shouted Millet. His fist shot out, landing solidly on Markus’ jaw. Markus stumbled back and fell to the ground.
“It’s not my fault,” said Markus, still sitting on the ground and rubbing his jaw. “You were seen coming in here by one of their spies. Please understand, if I didn’t do this they would have killed me, and half of my men as well.”
Malstisos glared furiously at the door. “I say we fight our way out.”
“No,” said Millet. “Let me speak to them first.” He looked down at Markus. “Lead me upstairs.”
Without a word, Markus got to his feet and led Millet up the stairs and through the door. He entered the main part of the house and immediately saw twelve soldiers in full armor, swords drawn.
With them was a man in a dark blue velvet suit, carrying a white ash walking stick. He had long, dark blond hair and fair skin. He smiled as Millet entered.
“You must be Millet,” he said. “My name is Brandis. I am here to escort you and your companions to Hazrah if you wish.”
“We will not be used as hostages,” said Millet. “If that is your intent you might as well kill us now.”
Brandis laughed. “No, no, no, you are not my captives, you’re my guests.”
“And if I decide not to accept your hospitality,” said Millet. “What then?”
“Leave if you wish,” he said. “But I believe you are here at the direction of the former Lord Nal’Thain. Is this not so?”
Millet remained expressionless and silent.
“No need to answer,” said Brandis. “I already know. Markus was kind enough to fill me in. It’s a good thing he did. Otherwise you
may have been foolish enough to attempt sneaking into the city. Naturally, you would have been caught. Heaven knows what may have happened before I could get to you.”
“What do you want with us?” Millet demanded.
“To help. You’re here to retrieve the Nal’Thain family, and I’m here to see that you accomplish your task.”
Millet looked warily at Brandis. “So we can simply take them and leave?”
“Certainly,” he said. “Jacob Nal’Thain is a troublemaker we would be happy to be rid of. As for Lady Penelope, you have a choice.”
“What might that be?” asked Millet.
“She has traveled north to the court of the Reborn King,” said Brandis. “It will take several weeks for her to return. You may wait, or you may take young Jacob and leave immediately.”
“If you are being truthful, then have Jacob brought here,” said Millet. “Now.”
“I see your suspicions abound.” Brandis chuckled. “As you wish. But I must ask that you remain here until he can be brought.” He turned to leave. “Oh, I nearly forgot. You must surrender your weapons first, of course.”
Millet made no move to comply.
“Come now,” said Brandis. “They will be returned when you leave. A small thing to ask, all things considered.”
Millet nodded and went back down to the basement. Malstisos was still standing in front of Maybell with his knife drawn.
“I could hear your conversation,” said Malstisos. He handed Millet his knife. “We have little choice.”
“I’m sorry for this,” said Millet. “Clearly Markus is no longer the man I knew.”
“You are not at fault,” he replied. “There was no way for you to know.”
“If you would all join me,” called Brandis from upstairs.
Millet led Maybell and Malstisos up and handed their weapons to him.
“Thank you,” said Brandis. “Very wise choice.”
“What happens now?” asked Millet.
“Now we wait,” he answered. “One of my men is on his way to bring young Jacob. Then you may leave. That is, unless you choose to wait for the Lady Nal’Thain.”
“If she still lives?” said Millet.
The Godling Chronicles : Of Gods and Elves (Book Two) Page 2