by D C Ware
“Why do you believe she intends to wrest the ring from you?”
“Whether she intends to or not, as you have said; she is The Harbinger of The Weapons of Power. She was there when I first became Guardian of the Ring. She is foretold to be there when my guardianship and the guardianship of all the weapons’ guardians ends, even the Bow of Light.”
“And you think if she reaches you that she may inadvertently bring what has been foretold to pass?”
“Even so.”
“I understand wizard. But who can I send. I cannot go myself, not with the rumors of the king’s death. My host must be ready to fulfill its alliances in the event of battle or even war.”
“I was not thinking of you lord.”
“Then who?”
“The Pathfinder. You must send The Pathfinder!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Struggles
Oxley’s first “visit” had went well. He was surprised at how much he was able to get for twenty silver pieces. Back in Milestill a single silver coin only got you a ride on your lap, three draughts together from the same mug and then a kiss on the lips. Anything else was extra including ‘touching’ the legs or thighs or regions below.
But today, with the gold Maverick had paid him, Oxley had all access. The ‘Pusse le Cat’ was just up ahead and he was looking forward to spending double what he had at the ‘Bouncing Bess’.
As he looked up from counting his coins, Oxley noticed four guys standing in his path in the alley. All of them were smaller than Oxley though two had smooth wooden batons. Oxley slid his coins back into his pocket and stopped walking. He could handle himself in a fair fight but even for his size four on one was poor odds. Add in the clubs and no matter how hard he fought it was just a foregone conclusion.
Oxley slowly turned around and started walking back the way he had came. That’s when the bosun from The Adamante along with a taller skinny guy appeared blocking his way in that direction.
“I don’t want no trouble with you guys. Me and my friend earned this gold fair and square. You know that,” said Oxley pointing at the bosun. “Besides,” he continued. “He only gave me 20 gold pieces out of the three hundred you paid us. The old guy got three times that much.”
“Well that’s nice to know son,” the bosun said as he uncoiled a length of rope in his hands. “But you see, we ain’t here to rob you. Captain Milan never goes back on a deal. It leaves a bad reputation and makes it hard to visit the same place twice.”
“You ain’t here to rob me.” Oxley said puzzled.
“That’s right, we ain’t. In fact, I give you my word as a sailor that whatever gold you have on you when you begin your service will be returned to you by the Quartermaster when your service is completed. And if not you then your next of kin laddie.”
“Service? What service?” asked Oxley starting to get nervous as the gang of men closed in on him from both sides.
“Your service aboard The Adamante son. Haven’t you ever heard of a press gang?”
Before Oxley could answer the four men behind him let into his sides and legs with the clubs. Oxley started swinging realizing for the first time that the men were a press gang and they intended to force him to serve aboard The Adamante.
Oxley wasn’t punching but was instead flailing his arms about like staffs closelining the smaller sailors as they closed in on him. Eventually the sailors realized that the blows to Oxley’s legs and sides weren’t having the intended effect as Oxley shrugged them off and continued to deliver ham hocks to the smaller men. One of them was already down. Dizzy and disoriented from a forearm shot he caught from Oxley’s right arm. Desperate they started trying to hit Oxley in the head and neck area with the small clubs. But at six foot four and weighing 290 pounds the smaller five foot five swabbies could barely reach his head. The first blow that did catch Oxley’s head left a red contusion on his forehead above his right eye. This sent Oxley into a fury and instead of simply swiping and swinging at the sailors he started throwing punches and grabbing them and hurling them across the alley. He threw one guy so hard his back hit the back of a broken cart and he went limp screaming his couldn’t move his legs.
That only left two of the four sailors that had originally cut him off still engaging him; with one clutching onto his right leg and the other clutching onto his right arm.
Rodrigo, the bosun, had seen enough. Handing the rope to the tall skinny ruffian standing with him he walked up to where Oxley was tussling with the two smaller sailors and threw a right handed punch that hit Oxley so hard in the face that it appeared to break his nose. Oxley crumpled to his knees and fell out unconscious.
“Tie him up and see if those other two are still fit for service. We sail in an hour.”
Lyla was feeling better. The tea Granger had prescribed for her had broken her fever and the food Maverick had brought her back from the pier was restoring her strength.
Maverick had brought her enough food to feed a barracks. Beef and mutton with wastrel bread, fruit, onions and garlic. Salted herrings as an appetizer and almond pudding and custard pies for dessert.
He told her that he had assumed Oxley would be back by time he returned with the food having spent all his gold at the first brothel he visited or else having been robbed of it by one of its buxom wenches. The fact Oxley had not returned yet impressed Maverick, maybe the big oaf knew more of the ways of the world than he let on.
“Here’s your share of the transaction Lyla. One hundred gold. Out of the three hundred, I gave the old innkeeper sixty, Oxley got thirty and the other ten I used to pay our bill at the tavern for the food and rooms and to buy all this food. That left 100 gold pieces each for me and you.”
“So Gilbo was true to his word, uh Maverick?”
“I guess so.”
“I wish I could of went with you Maverick. I would have liked to have gone aboard a real sailing ship. How many guns did you say it had?”
“At least sixteen maybe eighteen. Eight or nine on each side.”
“Wow. A real fighting ship and a real captain. C.a.p.I.t.a.n. Meeelan!!” Lyla drug out the last syllables of the captains name causing Maverick to burst into laughter.
“I’m just glad Granger’s tea worked. I was going to pay the leech to bleed you tomorrow if you were not feeling better.”
“Bleed me. What about the healing potions?”
“Well I left one with him to give to you but he said the bleeding would cost half as much and if it didn’t work he could always give you the potion then. Sounded reasonable to me.”
“Oh, if you put it that way. Yeah.”
“Speaking of Granger, where did he say him and his surly friend were heading.”
“I don’t remember. I was hardly awake. I just recall something about the Third Knight having need of him and something about you being in love with me…”
Lyla stopped chewing the mutton she had in her mouth. She had not meant to bring up that last part. She looked up at Maverick, raising her eyes but not her head.
“What was that last part?” Maverick said with his eyebrows furrowed over.
“What last part?” Lyla asked as she started chewing again.
“You said something about me being in love with you.”
“I didn’t say anything about you being in love with me you cretin. I said he mentioned something about you being in love with mead!”
Maverick was silent. Lyla was silent.
“Oh, in love with mead. Yeah. Well that’s true. I guess I did drink a lot while he was with me these few days.”
“Umm, hmm” was all Lyla said as she resumed eating and quickly changed the subject to the raspberries in the almond pudding.
Swift had relayed as many messages as he could to the towns and kingdoms that The Ferret could have reached since he slipped past him at Wooddam. He had even tried to message Sir Ebros if he was still in the woods. The message center here in Futuretown was the most advanced in the kingdom.
Most message
centers used carrier pigeons to relay messages to other message centers the king had set up at specific locations in the realm. From there the message would be carried by rider on horse to its intended recipient although that could still involve a day or two or travel. At its best the message centers could deliver a message in three days that normally took a week. But for the type of message Swift was conveying even three days would be too late.
The message centers at Futuretown on the other hand sent the messages directly from its center to another message center through a device called a ‘tapper’. Using lode stones at each center, tapping on the primary stone at Futuretown could be detected on one or more of the other stones at the other message centers so that the message was delivered instantly. From there the message still had to be delivered by rider but it eliminated one or two days it might take a pigeon to fly to a remote destination and if the message center was in another town it eliminated any delay at all.
The only limitation of the system was that it required operators trained in the ‘tapping’ code at any center sending or receiving the message. This was usually a big problem as the only training available in Overland was at Futuretown and often the message centers in other towns or castles did not employ a ‘trained’ tapper. Instead they relied on operators ‘familiar’ with the tapping system who could translate some but not all of a given message. And in the case of very long or complex messages sometimes they could not decipher more than the greeting and the ending.
The second problem with the ‘tapping’ system was that the lode stones wore out very quickly from the tapping which was done with a small iron hammer. Typically a lode stone could send or receive at most three messages before cracking or shattering. A cracked lode stone could still be used but resulted in garbled or misinterpreted messages. A shattered lode stone was useless. Being one of the wealthier towns Futuretown could afford to keep an ample supply of the lode stones available and replaced them at the first sign of chipping or scratching. The other towns on the other hand only replaced them when they had a paying customer as the price of sending or receiving such a message at one of those centers was about twice the cost of the lode stone itself.
None of that mattered to Swift now. He had continued on to Futuretown instead of diverting to the message center at Kings Harbor for the sole purpose of using the tapping system. And as a Knight of the Land and Third Knight of the King the cost was inconsequential and would be paid by the crown.
Swift worried that even if his messages got through on time they were still too vague. They simply read:
“Beware The Ferret. He is loose. Intends to do great harm to persons large and small. Guard all festivities and fairs.”
Assuming the more prescient rulers understood the message; what could they actually do before The Ferret struck? No. His real hope in preventing The Ferret’s terror lie in catching him. Even if he could not prevent it. He would see that The Ferret was still caught so that justice might be done upon him. And his best chance of catching The Ferret lie with Granger. But he could not locate Granger without abandoning his quest.
“Forgive me my liege.” He thought as he mounted his horse and rode out of Futuretown heading back south to the forest of Wooddam.
“That’s the last.” Lord Nessleton was sweating. His white tunic was marred with blood and smoke. “None of the rest could be saved. Bonelord is having the trebuchets loaded now to fill the remaining space in the plaza with dirt and extinquish the last of the fire.”
“It’s just as well Roger, we are all out of healing potions and The Father is spent. He has no more ability to heal so much as a rash. And I have just enough to heal those three over there and then I too will be spent.”
“How many did we save Abbot?”
“If those three live fifty eight. Fifty eight out of two hundred.”
Neither man spoke for a space of time.
“Well, we guess there was another hundred that were consumed or crushed and will never be accounted for. The Lord Protector has ordered burial arrangements to begin as soon as the last fires are extinguished.”
“The Church will help with that as well, of course.” The Abbot wiped his brow and turned to see to the three remaining victims in his medical tent awaiting treatment when he saw Father Wilmont approaching. He was carrying the body of a boy in his arms.
The Abbot looked at Lord Nessleton as the two waited for the Father to approach. Father Wilmont walked up to Lord Nessleton. A look of profound grief and pain etched across his face.
“This young boy was brought to me by a soldier clearing debris by the postern gate.”
The Abbot walked up and examined the body of the child. He ran his hand over the child’s limbs and then lightly touched his broken face and skull with his fingers. Finally, he looked up at The Father with a look of bewilderment on his face.
“This child was not killed in the fire?”
“No, he was not. He was not even killed in this castle. Look at the debris on the back of his tunic and breeches.”
Lord Nessleton came up and lifted the child’s body to get a look underneath at his clothings.
“Straw and waddle. From a cabin or hut?”
“Precisely, both of which are strictly forbidden in the market plaza or castle proper due to their risk for fire.”
“Where again did you say he was found?” asked Lord Nessleton.
“By the postern gate, not inside and not quite out. Apparently he was dumped there in an attempt to make it appear he died in that breach trying to escape the fire.”
“His head has been crushed.” The Abbot said bluntly looking at Lord Nessleton.
“Even those buried under the dirt would not have crushing wounds like this,” said Father Wilmont.
“So whoever killed him is no doubt the same person responsible for the fire.”
“I assumed as much as well. Which is why I brought him to you. The Lord Protector should know of this.”
“And his body should be kept separate from the others. There may be clues on it that will lead us to our saboteur.”
“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves gentlemen?” The Abbot interrupted. “This child is not just some shard of cloth or chip of a blade to be used in an investigation. He is someone’s son and our first question has to be who was he. What is his name?”
“Even so Abbot, but looking at his clothing I would wager he was the child of one of the vendors in the market. He is dressed somewhat better than a scullion or villein. Meaning at least one, if not both, of his parents are probably dead as well.”
“Be that as a may. We must make an inquiry.”
“Agreed. But his body is not to be prepared or buried without permission from me or the Lord Protector himself. Do you understand Abbot?”
“I understand Roger. Now I must tend to those still wounded awaiting me in the Chiurgeon's tent.”
Dropping his head. The Abbot laid a hand on the boy’s broken face and said a prayer. He then walked off toward the medical tent in silence.
“I will have the body kept in my private chapel. And under guard. Until you or the Lord Protector direct otherwise Roger.”
“Thank you Father, for everything. You and your acolytes brought a glimmer of hope to what otherwise would have been a hopeless situation. I dare say, one of those you saved may turn out to be one of the boy’s parents.”
Father Wilmont looked down at the broken face and lifeless body of the boy he held in his arms and said, “I pray not Lord Nessleton. I pray not.” And he too walked off in silence.
Morcai could feel his power ebbing. From where he sat in the highest part of his castle projecting his form and his will into the grove where The Lady was sleeping was taxing him. He had not come to contend with The Lady and now he could not even contend with her if he desired to. But he had come to test her and he had obtained the answer he sought. She was powerful. On a par with him. But her power was not germane. It had a source and it had limits. Limits he was not prepared to
test…yet.
“If you have the text Matthew the purpose of my coming should be clear to you.”
The melodic voice of The Lady pulled Morcai back into his ethereal form that he was projecting into The Lady’s dream.
“Forgive me my Lady. It was presumptuous of me to ask such a question.”
His power was ebbing. She could feel it, even see it wafting off of him like mist from a lake. He had impressed her by coming to her in her dream. He had frightened her by causing her discomfort but now she had taken his measure. While she could not assess the limits of his mortal capabilities, in this existence at least he was constrained. She now sought to keep him here longer. To not only know his limits but to trace the source of his power. The origin of his dark craft.
“Josias always said you were curious Matthew. Too curious perhaps. But have you not perceived that the reference to this ‘new king’ you speak of is the hapax legomenon of that ancient tomb.”
“I have my lady. But instruct me further.”
“You have inquired of the king Matthew but why have you not asked of Ansiel or Azriel? Why have you not inquired of the coming of Shiloh?”
Gabriel was baiting him in. The prophecies were the most obscure writings in the nine continents. She had broached the subject as a way of buying more time to keep him in this place and probe him further. But she had detected a change in him when she had invoked the names of The Luminaries. Now she was trying to follow that impulse to discover its nature.
Morcai had been compromised. He could feel it. The Lady had taken his measure and found him wanting. Now she was toying with him. She was probing him. Unclothing him and trying to display him naked before her. He was weak, yes. But he was not feckless. A demonstration was in order. One that would give even one such as her pause to presume to invade his essence. He called his power to him. His fire. The destructive fire in which he was born. And it lashed upon her!
The Lady detected it at the latest of opportunity to guard herself against it. He was summoning his power. More power from somewhere else. Beyond what she had perceived before. In that she had underestimated him. He was not, as it seemed, the sum of his being. He was something more. Just then an antediluvian sheet of flames of brilliantly red, orange and black hue washed over her ethereal form. Disintegrating it instantly, consuming even the ethereal ashes it left behind. The flames grew and imploded. Destroying even the sphere within which she had dreamt.