by D C Ware
Heymann did not reply and instead exited the tent. Friar Damian stayed behind and re-sheathed the dagger he had slid from under his habit while the two were talking.
“Interesting conversation my lady. But one question?”
“Yes Damian?”
“We have almost one hundred Sons of Cain with us. Why didn’t he ask for help?”
“Because he is a ‘knight’ my dear friar. Do remember we are not in the Darkmen’s Domain any longer. This is the Overland. And in the Overland a knight is a fearsome and terrible thing to behold, and he would never ask help of a bunch of lowly monks.”
Damian looked back at the door of the tent flapping in the breeze as he watched the proud image of Heymann mount his great warhorse and ride out of the camp in a fury.
Vandrel was disturbed the ring had become dull and its power was ebbing and receding unusually. Something was amiss and it was affecting the ring. Vandrel went to the grove in the side of the cave where the ring was laid and closed his eyes as he put his concentration upon it.
Something was indeed wrong. Something was not only affecting the ring. Something was “calling it”. Rather someone was calling it.
Vandrel removed the ring and held it in his hand. It was warm and it radiated a soft vibration. Vandrel closed his fist and the screen inside his mind came to life.
Such was the power of The Resurrection Ring. Most who sought the ring only sought it for its power to make he who was dead live again but The Resurrection Ring was much more than that. When used properly, by one such as Vandrel, the Ring not only made that which was dead live again but it could allow a person in one realm to pierce the other. The living could see into the world of the dead and the dead could see into the world of the living.
That is what Vandrel was doing now. The images that played in his mind were like motion pictures on a clear lake. He could scroll them at will….here was a warrior who had lived and died on his horse, just staring at Vandrel; there was a maiden who had drowned while swimming alone – in the nude – she lay still across the beach staring into the sky and Vandrel stared down at her almost losing his concentration as her supple body forced his eyes upon her breast and then bid them look ‘lower’.
Vandrel broke the tether and moved on; there was a young boy on his knees in prayer inquiring about his dead mother; there was a lord high in his castle surveying the army laying siege to his stronghold and looking down at the sword of his son who had recently fallen in battle; Vandrel was seeing the living now but they could not see him as the dead could; then there was a lady – living – looking directly at him. And then she ‘grinned’ and ‘spoke’!
“Hello Vandrel, I am coming to see you!”
Vandrel fell back in the cave and lost his concentration temporarily dropping the ring. He was exhausted and panting on his hands and knees. He had dropped the ring and retrieved it again quickly returning it to its alcove.
Vandrel stood and breathed three words, “The Lady Gabriel!”
Morcai removed the message from the winged Siren’s talons with gratitude. He opened it and read it quickly. Heymann has found The Lady and by now should have made first contact with her.
The fact that Horatio was following her was unexpected news however. Morcai had been led to believe by his agents that The Second Knight was already at Kings Castle supervising arrangements for his burial. Obviously he was not. This was a development of some significance as the Bane Knights rarely acted of their own volition and where they went the king’s will was not far behind.
No matter. For now the arrival of The Lady led more credence to the news of the kings death than a single knight being where he ought not be.
As Morcai went to write a note for the messenger to bear back to Heymann there was a commotion on one of the lower levels of his castle. Men yelling and arms clashing briefly. Then a terrible cry and nothing.
Morcai went to a back door of his chamber across from the window the messenger had arrived by. When he opened the door a guard was standing there and turned to face him.
“What was that Jarvis?”
“Another quester my lord.”
“Some type of thief or spy I take it?”
“Even so, my lord.”
“What level did he make it to.”
“The first.”
“Ah I see. Oh well be sure to clean up the mess before morning.”
“I will do so my lord.”
“And don’t forget to reset all the traps. That is how the last challenger made it to the second level.”
“They are doing so now even before cleaning up my lord.”
“Very well, good night Jarvis.”
“Good night, my lord.”
Morcai proceeded to open the parchment and scribbled a detailed message to Heymann. He closed it and rolled it up and then tied it shut.
“Take this to Heymann. With haste!”
The fell beast replied in a sickly voice punctuated by a grotesque gurgling, “As you command, my lord” and flew out the window of the castle. Its wings beating furiously in the gray night sky.
CHAPTER TEN
The Ferret
Swift was puzzled. He had been in the forest for three days and had not spied any sign of the Greyhound. His men trotted alongside him, Sir Ebros and two others to his right and Swift and Sir Gavin on the left.
Granger was considered one of the most skilled Rangers in the kingdom. He especially made it his business to know who came and went in the Wooddam Forest and would always take note of the king or his knights. The fact that Granger had not confronted them or otherwise given signs that he was watching disturbed Swift. Not that it necessarily meant Granger was not out there because if Granger did not want you to see him you would not.
But Swift had trained with the Rangers prior to becoming a knight and he could tell better than most knights if another Ranger was around or even near, and he was quite sure Granger was no where to be found. Which begged the question. Where was he?
Granger slowly walked up to Lyla. He could feel that she was nervous. She was young, he thought, even younger than Maverick. It was always so with war and conflict, it costs the young more than all others.
Lyla glanced at the tall Ranger but did not acknowledge his presence. She tried to continue her pace but felt herself slowing her stride as she unconsciously took inventory of herself and how she must appear to this seasoned warrior.
She had a dagger on her left waist and the crossbow pistol was slung across her back. She wore a linen skirt that came down to her ankles with a leather reinforced tunic with long sleeves and a short collar. Under her skirt she wore men’s woolen hose. Her long brown hair was tied with a leather cord halfway down its length. The look was completed by brown leather boots of the kind more commonly preferred by archers.
After walking beside her without speaking for some time Granger finally spoke.
“And you must be Lyla? Maverick’s friend?”
“Un hum”, said Lyla trying to keep her stride.
Granger waited to see if Lyla would ask who he was. But she did not.
“Aren’t you going to ask who I am.”
“No”, said Lyla. “Maverick has a lot of friends like you.”
“And what am I like?” asked Granger with a smile.
“You know what I mean,” replied Lyla. “All serious and dangerous like.”
Granger smiled again.
“Well I assure you Lyla, I am very serious. But I am not dangerous. At least not unless I have to be.”
“Well I am not dangerous unless I have to be as well” Lyla said matter of factly.
Granger laughed.
“Fair enough, my lady.”
Lyla looked at him out of the corner of her eye. No one had ever called her a “lady” before. Not even Maverick.
The two continued to walk side by side without speaking further. Lyla carding a piece of fleece she had brought from home; and Granger sharpening the broad axe that usually hung at his sid
e.
He was taking his time. He always did. Getting a job dying wool would prove useful, especially the red dye.
His instructions had been a little more specific than he was used to but it was still nothing he could not accomplish. He had already paid for an audience with the local alchemist. After that it was simply a matter of finding the best ‘delivery’ method for the killing agent.
There was only one more thing he needed to know before he struck.. . whether someone was trailing him.
He had seen the clash outside the Town of Wooddam when he escaped in the cart. If that was about him then he would be safe to assume he was being tracked even now.
He had not gotten as good as he was with his ‘work’ by simply focusing on the job at hand. He always had to prepare his means of escape after the method of striking had been determined but prior to the actual kill. That is how he lived to complete another job.
In this case, it would not have only been careless to assume Morcai’s men had taken care of the knights he had slipped past outside of Wooddam, it would have been dumb. He was sure the knights being assailed outside of the town would prevail. Especially if the heraldry he saw on the leader’s armor was truly that of Swift, The Third Knight of the realm. Swift could have dispatched all five of those Nemesis Knights himself.
So he assumed he was being trailed. And he would also assume that by time he completed his job his pursuer would have caught up with him. Meaning he would have to deal with him, even if he was a knight of the land. And if a Bane Knight was pursuing him there was only one sure means of getting him off his tail.
And he believed he could find just such a means nearby.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Decisions
Midas was getting impatient. It had been three days since Mayor Brufson promised to send someone to leave with him. Midas was all prepared to leave. He had packed healing potions, high boots, a heavy coat, a lantern, enough food to feed three people for ten days, and some long rope.
He had even brushed up on his Milestillian magic training. Magic was common in the Overland but each town or sometimes castle practiced their own style or form of magic. Of course, magic was not to be confused with wizardry or the ‘art of unlocking wards’ as it was known in the Overland. That was something quite rare, and quite powerful that Midas had never studied. It just brought too much trouble.
Here in Milestill the preferred type of magic on the other hand was sleight of hand or illusion. Normally the tricks allowed the magician to make others see what he wanted them to see or at least think they were seeing what he wanted them to see. Midas’ favorite was one that allowed him to appear to be of a different race, such as an Elf or Dwarf. When performed successfully he would appear to someone exactly how he would look if he actually were an Elf or Dwarf instead of a human. That was the one he had brushed up on while packing.
Just as he resigned himself to start reviewing another trick, Brufson’s ‘man’ announced his arrival with one long sharp knock on the door.
“I take it you are the one Brufson said I should wait for?”
“And I take it you are the healer?”
“You may call me Midas. Do you have a name?”
“I am Boris LeMay but you can call me Constable!”
“Constable? Well that is fine by me if you insist. But I would remind you that you are only a ‘Constable’ here. Out there when we hit the road you are just another traveler and I would be cautious about letting just anyone know you are a Constable. There is a great many persons who would not hesitate to exact a large measure of revenge on a Constable, any constable, for injustices visited upon them or their loved ones by constables.”
“Well in that case, you can call me Boris.”
Midas did not trust Boris. He appeared to be in his late forties. He had a bald head with the exception of a patch of hair on the back. He had a large belly even though he was not fat. He was not a large man but he was taller than average. But what bothered Midas the most about him was that he had the look of a man who had crossed a lot of people and Midas was starting to pray they did not run into any of them on their way to the Monastery.”
“Well Boris what do you say we get on our way. Did you bring the horses Brufson promised.”
“Outside.”
Midas closed the door to the lean-to that he called home and left a note for his landlady telling her when he expected to return; and if he had not returned by that time, where she could collect the next month’s rent.
Maddox was upset. Granger and Maverick had been having private talks off and on for the entire trip and for the first time since he had known him, Maddox felt like a stranger to Granger. Granger had hardly spoken three words to him since they caught up with these kids. At first Maddox thought Granger was still upset with him about letting Maverick catch him off guard. But as the trip progressed, and from what little he overheard of their conversations, he didn’t think Granger was surprised by that at all. Which made Maddox even angrier.
Maddox had been with Granger, off and on, for three years. Throughout that time he had asked Granger to apprentice him and teach him to be a Ranger as well. But Granger would always say he was not ready, or try to explain that most of being a Ranger was something he could not teach. True, Granger had showed him a few small tricks like how to track most people without being noticed, how to start a fire with just sticks, how to stay warm when it was cold, what bugs were safe to eat and what plants had healing properties but Maddox knew there was a lot more than that stuff that Granger was not sharing with him. Like where to strike to kill quickest or how to make a man suffocate on his own puke. Things he knew Maverick knew from the kick he had delivered to Maddox earlier.
Still despite this, Maddox was always loyal to Granger. He would die for Granger and had put his life on the line beside him more than a few times. He had always assumed it was just his demeanor and personality that Granger wanted him to work on before taking him to the next level of his training. And he had worked on that. The fact the fat boy and girl were still alive was proof of that. There was a time he would have waylaid them the moment he caught up with them and killed them both and reported back to Granger that the girl had killed herself rather than come back with him. He knew how to do that kind of killing.
But now, seeing Maverick, for the first time he was starting to feel that the reason Granger had refused to advance his training all these years had more to do with his ‘birth’ than his demeanor. He was just the lowly son of a blacksmith and that is all he would ever be to Granger. Someone not worthy of the noble profession of a Ranger. Which made Maddox even angrier.
“Well” he thought, “he might be a blacksmith’s boy but he was not stupid and he certainly was not someone to be looked down upon”.
He had heard more than enough of the snippets of Maverick and Granger’s conversation to know that it had something to do with the king and his disappearance. Somehow the lad Maverick knew something about the king being missing and Maddox knew at least one person who would pay him handsomely for that kind of information. The last he had heard, Heymann Oathbreaker was somewhere in the Wooddam Forest and judging from more of the conversations he had overheard they would be passing very close to that forest, if not through it after this excursion to Zafton was over with.
Still, he was loyal to Granger no matter what the Ranger thought of his birth. Granger had saved his life more times than he could remember and when he was set to hang for a crime he didn’t commit, it was Granger who freed him and took him under his protection.
Maverick, on the other hand, was arrogant, conceited and over confident. Perhaps Granger had trained him how to humble the middle aged son of a blacksmith, but how would he hold up against a former knight of the land and an Oathbreaker?
If the opportunity arose, Maddox had no reservations about finding out.
They entered Zafton together but Maverick made it known right away that his first stop was going to be the town tavern. Lyla and Oxley
on the other hand were going to head down to the docks and start making inquiries about selling the compass. Granger took Maddox with him to see what News and Information he could gather regarding the king and other events in the kingdom.
Maverick got a table in a corner of the tavern. It gave him a good view of everyone who came in or went out and there was less light there than anywhere else in the tavern so it also offered him a measure of concealment.
Maverick had told Lyla and the others he needed a drink after the long trip from Milestill. The truth was he needed a drink after the news he had received from Granger.
‘A king’s son’.
This was something Maverick had never contemplated. His uncle was brave enough and said to have been a renowned warrior. But all he was ever told about his father was that he had ‘other obligations’ that prevented him from raising Maverick so he had made his brother Forn pledge to do so. And had provided his brother with everything he needed to fulfill that pledge during Maverick’s youth.
It was even his father who had paid for Maverick to receive the tutelage and training he had been given growing up. Never did Maverick consider that the ‘other obligations’ were those of being ‘king of the realm’. Even now he did not have the temerity to believe such a thing without more proof.
And, more importantly, if his father was the king then who was his mother and what had really happened to her. Maverick knew less about her than he did about his father. All he had ever been given (or told) about his mother was a letter from his father saying that his mother had remained out of his life for his own safety and well being. And that she was no longer in the realm. But what if that was not true? What if the king - his father - had her killed to protect his secret or forced her away and out of Maverick’s life for the same reason?