by D C Ware
Midas ran to the river and retrieved a helm full of clean water. Tearing a piece of cloth from his inner tunic that had not been exposed to the dirt he cleaned the wound and then used another piece of cloth to bind it and stop the bleeding. He needed to get the knight to a hospital or a Cleric which meant he needed to move him. But he needed to do so without aggravating the wound further and more importantly without reopening it.
Midas looked over at Starlight. Poor warhorse. He was a fierce steed who never shied from the battle but he would be of no aid to Midas or the knight now. Midas looked around for something to fashion into a litter. The giant? Midas ran to the fallen giant and retrieved his spear. He also cut away a section of the giant’s fur mantle. Using pieces of the spear, the mantle piece and shreds of his habit he constructed a litter and gently slid the knight onto it sideways.
Midas gathered what he could of their supplies, got in front of the litter, lifted it and started pulling…in the direction of Kings Castle.
Sir Dubois stood. This was the third time Friar Damian had come to him asking to check on The Lady and it would be the third time that he would tell him that The Lady specifically requested not to be disturbed. By anyone. Not even the crazy, creepy, friar.
“What is it now Friar? As I have said two times hence, The Lady specifically said no one. Not even you.”
“I have not come to see The Lady good knight. Look yonder! Some of your hosts approach from Fire Castle.” The old friar pointed in the direction of the towering but damaged castle.
Made of a red sandstone the castle almost glowed in the fading light of dusk. But Sir Dubois could see clearly that a host was approaching. A large host of Nemesis Knights. At least forty. He strained his eyes harder. He clearly made out Lieutenant Rendahl toward the front but they were being led by another. A large warrior in black armor with furs. Maxx! It was Warlord Hermun Maxx. The Butcher of Bastonne! A province in Milestill he and his personal guard had laid waste to when they refused to satisfy his perversions. Why were Nemesis Knights being led by one such as he? Where was Heymann?
“Well knight, are you going to guide them to our position? I assume they are coming to strengthen our retinue.” The friar spoke interrupting Sir Dubois’ thoughts.
“Uh no. You are right it is a host from our castle but a host that size must surely be tasked with some other purpose than escorting even your lady. Besides, me going out to meet them would leave you free to disturb The Lady.”
The Friar laughed.
“For a traitor knight, you are very loyal. I will meet them and guide them to our camp.”
“Very good Friar.” Said Sir Dubois.
The Friar turned and began to walk away when Sir Dubois called out to him.
“And Friar, when you meet them do not tell them Lord Heymann left me in the camp. A matter of pride, right? I can fashion a reason when they arrive.”
“As you wish knight. As you wish.” Friar Damian waved and pointed to two of his Sons of Cain to accompany him and headed to where the horses were secured.
Sir Dubois was uneasy. He still wondered what task Heymann had been set to that he would not be given command of such a host. Or if Heymann even lived. What if the wizard had been displeased with Heymann for not bringing The Lady to the castle, or not having defeated the Second Knight’s lieutenant, Sir DavenPo, or even for having let Sir Swift, the Third Knight, slip away and pursue The Ferret. Morcai had boiled men alive for lesser failures.
Sir Dubois followed Morcai but he served Heymann, a fellow knight. He answered to Morcai but he was loyal to Heymann, a fellow knight. And if he did not get the answers he sought when that host arrived he would make that very clear to that ‘murderer of a warlord’ Hermun Maxx!
Granger had moved fast through the woods, even for a Ranger. Maddox had tried to keep up at first but eventually resigned himself to catching up with the Ranger when he rested (if he rested). They had left their mounts after rendezvousing with Swift as they moved faster through the woods without them; being able to take shortcuts up and down ravines and dry gullies.
At last Granger halted and went down on one knee. He removed a small but very detailed map from his side pouch and began inspecting it and the area around him. He looked back, no sign of Maddox. He looked up, the day was almost turning to dusk. He intended on moving on through the evening but would need to rest in case they encountered any trouble. He removed some salted meat, dry beans and lemon water from his tan hide pack sack.
As he ate, Maddox finally arrived.
“Good lord Granger…I understand the urgency but surely you do not think you can make up the four days or more this Ferret has on us?” Maddox collapsed by Granger’s side and pulled a piece of the salted meat from his hand.
“No Maddox. I suspect whatever prey he was after has already been ensnared anyway.” Granger handed him some dried beans.
“Then where are we heading in such a rush? Other than to our deaths that is?”
“According to my map the closest message center is at The Lost Men’s Camp. If any word has spread of The Ferret’s attack it may be spreading already.”
“Aye, but that is assuming the knight was correct and its a tragedy the assassin is plotting. What if it’s a simple murder?”
“Then at least it will assuage my urgency old friend. Any death is regrettable but I would rather see one person harmed than see that demon of a man hurt my kingdom.”
Maddox did not reply and the two sat in silence briefly. At last Maddox spoke.
“What do you know of him? I mean ‘The Ferret’? Surely that is not his true name?”
“No his real name is Han Able. I have heard he is from Hamlot. A country on the Continent of Men and part of the renowned Joint Kingdoms.”
“The Joint Kingdom? By The One that is on the other side of the Sea of Men? Why would he come this far to ply his trade?”
“Because this where his wife was taken.”
“His wife?”
“Yes. It is said he was once a tailor for the very wealthiest man in his kingdom. As it goes, one day he made a very wealthy important client of his a houppelande. But it was too long for the man and did not fit. The man demanded a refund but he did not have enough money to give the man a refund. So the man took his wife instead as payment.”
“Arrh, that is cruel indeed. Almost makes you understand.”
“Almost.” Granger said softly.
“And I take it that man was his first victim?”
“No.”
“No. Not his first? But surely he visited soon after?” Maddox turned and stared at Granger who was looking down slowly putting away the meat and beans.
“That man yet lives Maddox. Apparently Han tracked him and his wife here to The Overland. Only to discover that his wife was actually ‘happy’. She had come to love the life of the nobility and the well to do and had no desire to return to him and his tailor shop.”
Maddox was stunned and did not speak.
“Shortly after that a rich but corrupt merchant was found with his throat cut in his own wagon and not a parcel of his goods had been taken. Many believe that was The Ferret’s first victim. Of course he did not have the name ‘Ferret’ then. That would come some years later due largely to his tendency to strike in the hours of dawn or dusk and his habit of remaining inactive for twelve to eighteen months at a time.”
Granger stood and tightened his pack sack across his back.
“Come Maddox, to catch your prey; you must become your prey. It is almost dusk!”
And with that the Ranger was on the move again.
Maddox grumbled, took another bite of salted meat and started walking.
Aranoor had made it to Elf Mountain as fast as he was able to from the northern forest where he dwelt. The messenger hawk had carried word to him that the Elf King, Aranrood had need of him and he had come.
Looking back on the great elven citadel filled him with a sense of bitter nostalgia. He remembered the days of his youth and grow
ing up among his kinsmen. He remembered his training in the ways of battle and the ways of the wood. He remembered…his mother.
It was unusual for the elven king to summon the half-elf. He was used to getting messages from the king’s hawk, Ulysseus, but never a summons. As a half-elf most of his kind ignored him if they were considerate; and shunned him if they were not. Though the king had always been kind and friendly. Even still this was only the second time he could recall the elven king having asked him to come to him in person. So Aranoor had come with haste carried most of the way across the forest on the back of his friend, the great stag Agamennon.
Aranoor moved through the mighty white walls of Celestra, as his people called Elf Mountain. Growing up within these walls had always given him a sense of security. Even if all the world fell he always believed Celestra and her mighty elven lords would endure. He still believed this, only it no longer gave him any comfort as his home was now the wilds and if all the world fell he would be among them.
Aranoor caught other elves glancing at him from time to time. Not staring or following him but simply ‘noticing’ him. Noticing that he was ‘half elven’. As a half elf Aranoor’s mother used to tell him that he had been blessed by The One with the best of both men and elves. He had the height and strength of men who tended to be physically stronger and taller than elves. But he had the appearance and complexion of elves who tended to have more polished and refined features than men. Unlike other elves he did not have sharp ears but like other elves he had angled eyebrows. His face was somewhat narrower than most men but rounder than most elves. His hair was less yellow like other elves and more chestnut than brown like a man’s would be. So it was with all of him. He was so much elf and so much man. Where his mother saw a blessing he saw a prank. Growing up he had neither the endurance and longevity of life as his elven peers (which became apparent when he started to age faster than them) nor the strength and imposing presence of men. He spent many years seeming to be a ‘large boy’.
Where men of his age, at the time, would have been experienced and mature; at the age of forty he was still mentally and developmentally a boy to his elven kin who lived to be in the hundreds of years.
Now however at the age of eighty he could walk comfortably in both worlds. To most men he had the appearance of a man in his early forties. To elves he was considered a man.
King Aranrood was waiting for Aranoor outside his Royal Keep.
“Hail to you Aranoor, son of Fionna! As ever you are welcomed home!” the king touched his right hand to his forehead in the typical elven greeting of friendship.
Aranoor returned the gesture and said, “Hail to you my king. And thank you. You honor me by recalling my mother’s name within these honored walls.”
“It is only just Aranoor. She was a flower in this garden for many seasons.”
“Even so, you honor me. May I inquire of the king why he has summoned me with haste?”
“To business then. You were ever more mature than your peers Aranoor. But I would know if you still have relations within the kingdom of men? Long have you dwelt in your northern woods and I would not be surprised if you told me you did not.” Aranrood started walking toward the castle gardens. Children ran past the two caught up in elven games. Some leaping onto and through the huge trees that grew among the marble and white washed stoned edifices.
“Of a truth, not many; my lord. But there is one I have maintained contact with even after all these years in Agamennon’s kingdom.”
“You mean the Ranger they call Granger?”
“Even so.”
“The one you taught as a child is he not?”
“Yes king.”
“He will have to do. Do you know his whereabouts?”
“I am aware that he is on the move. And if my forest friend’s reports are true it appears he is heading to Kings Castle.”
“Kings Castle? Good. Then that is where you must go and find him.”
“As you desire my lord. But may I ask what it is you would have me ask of him?”
“Ask him, if the king is dead!”
“Are you sure you do not want to wait?” Maddox was nervous. Breaking a royal seal was punishable by death in the arena. Breaking a royal seal at a message center was punishable by death on the chopping block. Had the door to the message center been unlocked he would have had no problem with Granger’s plan to get in and look through the messages and get out before anyone knew they had been there. That alone was considered a crime against the royal person but it was not punishable by death or a life in the games. But it wasn’t unlocked. It was locked and sealed.
“Look Maddox we don’t have time to wait until morning when they open. And even if we did we especially don’t have time to argue with the ‘operator’ about what authority we have to go through the messages.”
“But we have been charged by a knight of the land!” Maddox said reminding Granger that it was Swift, the Third Knight that had tasked them with tracking down The Ferret.
“Exactly. Now break open the door.” Granger pointed at the lock and seal.
“Uh, that wasn’t fair. Using my own logic against me.” Maddox raised his side axe.
“How come I get the feeling you baited me into that?” he said striking the blow destroying the lock and seal.
“Because I did,” said Granger. “Now come on, we need to be quick.”
Maddox and Granger began to search the oblong shaped building that was the message center. The building had two entrances, one on either side of its straight walls directly across from each other. The doors were square and slid right to open and left to close where they could be secured with an iron padlock and key. The key hole to the padlock then being “sealed” with a wax emblem bearing the King’s royal mark.
Customers would line up at the smallest of the two doors come in and go to either the operator to their left or right and then exit through the opposite wider door. On a busy day when most citizens had the funds, such as market day, to send the prohibitively expensive missives, the flow of people through the two portals was almost constant.
The operator stations as they were called consisted of a wooden desk, the message machine and two stools. One for the operator and one for the client. There would also be a lock box for payments which guards or constables would retrieve and empty throughout the business day. Both of these now stood open and empty.
The wall of the message center had shelves on either side that went from the ceiling to the floor. These shelves were filled with tubes that contained scrolls of messages that had been transmitted. Granger did not know how long the messages were kept or what type of order they were stored in on the shelves. It was generally known however that secret messages or royal communications were not stored on the shelves or even left at the message centers at night. Which meant Granger had no idea whether or not he would find the type of message he was looking for. If it had originated from Kings Castle or even from a Knight of the Land then it almost certainly would still not be in the message center.
“Hey, look at this.” Maddox handed Granger a scroll he had removed from a tube on a lower shelf near one of the operator stations.
Granger read the missive”
“”Please hurry john. I believe bessy may have been in the fire.”
“What of it? Sounds like someone died in a fire” Granger said handing the message back to Maddox.
“Now look at this one, and this one.” Said Maddox handing Granger two more scrolls from the same tube.
“”Please bring my belongings to the castle. All I brought was lost in the fire.
“He is dead. He is dead. My god, the fire took him. I watched. I watched.”
“There are at least six more like that rolled up in this same tube.” Madddox said looking at Granger.
“Where are these originating from Maddox?” Granger said, as he started to turn pale.
“Kings Castle.”
“My God, then The Ferret has struck! Hurry, and
bring that tube!” Granger exited through the door they had broke into. Maddox rolled the scrolls they had read back up, slid them back into the tube and followed him out.
All of the crew of The Adamante was assembled on the spar Deck and even spilled over and onto the quarter deck. Above them on the fore deck stood Captain Milan, Quartermaster Lucretia, her head bandaged and…Oxley.
“Hear, hear! Quiet down and let us begin!” Captain Milan raised his right arm to get the crew’s attention, his left arm across Oxley’s shoulders. The ship grew silent.
“Brothers it was a great ordeal we have just come out of. We survived an attack by one of the most dreaded pirates on the seas, Captain Joshua Tartoga!”
“Boooo, Boooo, Boooo!!!” The crew yelled their disapproval of the very mention of the dread pirate Tartoga’s name.
“Now, now! The dread pirate Tartoga has earned his reputation. That we must concede to him. That and no more. And by repelling his murderous assault we have now earned our reputation!!!!” Milan drew his sword and raised it as the crew broke out in applause.
“HUZZAH, HUZZAH, HUZZAH!!!!”
“Yes, yes my brothers. Tartoga and his criminals will think long and hard ere laying gang planks against The Adamante again!” Captain Milan looked at Oxley.
“And we in no small measure have our recently pressed man Oxley, whom I hear you all so affectionately call “Haymaker” to thank in no small part.”
“Haymaker, Haymaker, Haymaker!!!” The crew chanted.