Overland Quest

by D C Ware

  The first of her pursuers found her almost by accident and almost ran past her. Uncertain what to do he called for his brethren, all of whom appeared shortly, swords drawn and encircled the lady. One of the six, a sergeant, removed his helm and said “Call for the Warlord. I’m sure he intends to satisfy himself with her before he kills her. And hopefully when he is finished he’ll let us satisfy ourselves as well!” The men laughed.

  He appeared among them without warning. Silently he had fallen from the height of an impossible tree and landed with the grace of an eagle in flight directly in front of where The Lady was sitting.

  Immediately he was surrounded by four of the Nemesis Knights. It made no difference. His blade was a curse! With a step and slash he would rend a knight and his armor open like a blade through a parchment. The body inside lopping off and collapsing.

  He was silent. He never spoke a word. But his eyes were unnerving and bright. Like golden flames they pierced his adversaries and when he looked at one he struck.

  As two knights fell, two more joined the remaining two. One particularly brave knight, the sergeant, not pausing to encircle the elf but instead rushing right at him sword held high.

  In one motion he went down to one knee, swept the rushing knight’s feet from underneath him as he closed in on him and then raising his blade with both hands he brought it straight down into the fallen knight’s chest, right through his heavy armor.

  He paused there. With the blade still lodged in the fallen knights’ chest and on one knee; he scanned the three remaining Nemesis Knights.

  In one last desperate effort they all came at him at once.

  He drew the blade free and stood at the same time bringing it up and into the groin of the first knight that reached him. He then clutched it with both hands and in a sweeping motion brought it across the waste of the second knight severing him in half.

  The third knight’s sword slashed his armor sideways cutting a gouge into it from his chest to his hip but not penetrating the elven plate.

  He rolled and came up facing the knight that had landed the blow on him. At last he spoke.

  “You have earned an honorable death.” He sheathed the shimmering longsword and drew his two ornate long knives with black leather Tsuka-ito wrappings.

  The Nemesis Knight, having momentarily been taken off guard by the elf speaking, resumed his attack from the ox ward stance to execute a high blow. Just as he brought his large sword down the elf bent left and spun around on his left foot bringing himself behind the knight where he thrust both long knives into both of the knight’s obliques once again searing straight through the armor. As the knight’s head went back in pain, The Pathfinder withdrew the right blade and plunged it into the side of the knight’s neck.

  He paused and looked around. No other pursuers were in sight.

  “You are The Pathfinder?”

  The voice was a melody. It was The Lady.

  For but an instant something inside The Pathfinder ached. Her voice had touched something inside him that had not been touched in ages gone by. For a moment he had perceived beauty. But he was The Pathfinder. Beauty and grace could not abide in him. For he was vengeance.

  He moved toward The Lady and his stride was grace.

  Instantly she knew it was ‘him’. He whom she had once heard referred to as the desire of every Elven maiden. The one known as The Pathfinder to men, as Synn Cumhal ‘Son of Fury’ to the Elves but among her kind, among The Host, he was Adriel “the destroyer” most feared of The Host second only to his brother Azrael “the reaper”. Yet while it was true that among The Host he was most feared, he was also most pitied for he knew it not. The name ‘Adriel” was a name The One had not yet revealed to him. On this world he was merely The Pathfinder. And his lot was despair.

  “It is settled then.” Bonelord handed the tablet and quill back to the retainer. He was seated in the ornate high backed chair of the King at the head of the oval shaped table. As Lord Protector of the Realm in the absence of a king, it was his right to occupy the seat and assume the King’s authority at the Kings Council.

  He had convened the council following the inspection of the boy child. All present had concluded that his death was unrelated to the fire, and more importantly, was not an accident. The monks of Morsh Monastery had been especially helpful in explaining the nature of the wounds and injuries on the body and how they were all consistent with blunt force trauma that occurred separate from and previous to the body being deposited in the ruins of the fire.

  “The boy’s death was no accident and as such then neither was the fire.”

  “And most likely, Lord Protector, the perpetrator of one is the perpetrator of both.” Father Wilmont spoke.

  “Yes. I think that is agreed to Father. The questions that remain are who and why?” The knight sat and looked across the table at each of the men in attendance:

  Lord Nessleton was the most renown archer in the kingdom and the Captain of a band of Rangers known as Lord Nessleton’s Wiley Warriors. As part of his titles he was also Captain of The Lost Men’s Camp. A staging and recruitment fort used to supply men to the Kings army and to the armies of those lords and nobles loyal to the king like the town mayors. He sat at Bonelord’s right.

  Father Wilmont was the Father and Mayor of Morsh Monastery. He was the highest ranking ecclesiastical figure in the kingdom. He answered only to the Father-Bishop of The Church of the One in The Joint Kingdoms located on the Continent of Men. He also commanded a company of Warrior Monks known as “The Sons of Aaron” but more commonly referred to as The Aaronites. He sat at Bonelord’s left accompanied by a female commander of the order named, Mya.

  Sergeant Folsun sat to Lord Nessleton’s left. He was the commander of the garrison at Kings Castle. Folsun was a true soldier who had fought in campaigns in the Overland and abroad. Other than the King he answered only to the Bane Knights. Now in the king’s absence Folsun sat ready to fulfill the Lord Protector’s will as if it were his own.

  Friar Puck sat to the left of Mya. He was the most beloved friar/monk/father in the Overland. He lived in a cobble just outside of The Lost Men’s Camp where he gave aid to travelers and took in widows and orphans when the need arose. He and Lord Nessleton were the closet of friends and it was rumored that Lord Nessleton and he fought together during The Crimson Wars before the friar took up the cloth.

  “As to the why, I think that much is obvious Lord Protector!” The voice rang out in the council chamber. Everyone at the council table looked toward the large double doors and the striking half-elven man that walked through. It was Aranoor.

  Bonelord stood. “Noble Aranoor, you are a sight for sore eyes. You and your kindred are always welcome here!”

  “Excuse my intrusion without being announced Lord Protector but I assured your sentries that I came at the bidding of my king, Aranrood himself.” The half elf moved to the left side of the large council table and pulled out a chair next to Sergeant Folsun who was also now standing. “Rumor has reached Elf Mountain that the king is dead!”

  A sudden silence filled the room. Bonelord looked at Aranoor, looked down and sat. Folsun looked at Bonelord, who motioned, and Folsun sat as well. Bonelord motioned to the sentries at the door who still stood, hands on swords by the double doors and they turned and closed the doors behind them.

  “Then I see the rumor is true.” Aranoor said as he sat down.

  “The rumor is true Aranoor. But what I tell you now is known only to those in this room and those of similar rank. The king is missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “Yes. He went for a hunt two weeks past and according to those who were there the king was thrown into the river while pursuing a fox. When he was thrown he hit his head and passed out and was washed downstream. To date five search parties have been sent out to the area where he was said to have been thrown but so far there has been no sign of the body.”

  “I see,” said Aranoor. “Then the first task given to me by my
king is satisfied. Though I suspect it will only give rise to more rumor than the first.”

  “And what other task has the Elf King charged you with Aranoor?” Lord Nessleton spoke for the first time and looked down the table at the half elf.

  Aranoor paused. “Fair enough Lord Nessleton. I will return the confidence you have given me. The Lady Gabriel is coming.”

  Lord Nessleton played with the name in his head unable to ascertain its significance. Folsun and Mya looked at each other just as puzzled. It was Father Wilmont that spoke.

  “For the traitors have betrayed,

  with betrayal the traitors have betrayed.

  The Lady of the Light?”

  He said softly and almost in unbelief.

  “The Guardian of the Five Weapons of Power?” asked Friar Puck ascertaining the meaning of the poem instantly.

  “Even so,” said Aranoor “and we do not know why but my king fears the Wizard Morcai seeks her out.”

  “Morcai!” Lord Nessleton exclaimed in anger. That was a name he and everyone at the table recognized.

  Finally Bonelord spoke. “And now we know who is behind the fire as well?”

  “This means war!” Sergeant Folsun exclaimed slamming his fist onto the oak table.

  “There’s no need to engulf this realm in war. Send me and three good men like Folsun and Aranoor to Fire Castle and we will pry that snake out of its hole and bring him here to answer for his crimes!” Lord Nessleton said looking intently at Bonelord.

  “That would not be as simple as you suggest my friend. Morcai is no charlatan or magic user. He taps into dark powers!” Friar Puck replied.

  “And he has paid a high price for doing so.” Father Wilmont said softly looking at the friar as he spoke.

  “My lords.” For the first time the soft voice of Mya, the Aaronite commander, spoke up in the council chamber. “While it is no doubt true that Matthew,..Morcai, is behind the attack. He surely did not travel here and set the fire himself and kill the child.” Looking straight ahead at the Sergeant she said nothing further.

  After a pause, Bonelord spoke again.

  “She is wise Father Wilmont and correct. While I do not doubt that Morcai funded this attack, I am also convinced he did not carry it out. And the true punishment must be meted out to the perpetrator of this evil before the people will even consider supporting a war against Fire Castle.”

  “But how do we find this person, my lord?” Folsun said.

  Aranoor stood as the Sergeant finished his sentence.

  “If it pleases the Lord Protector, I would ask permission for one more guest to join this assembly.” Bonelord looked up at the half elf and nodded. Aranoor nodded to the two sentries that had remained in the chamber and they opened the doors.

  “I believe most of you know, or have heard of, the Ranger ‘Granger the Greyhound’!”

  Dressed in dark and light gray the tall Ranger stepped through the double doors. Bow across his back, quiver full of arrows, leather strappings of armor overlapping his torso and lower arms.

  Muddy and damp he entered with a scowl on his face and fire in his eyes. He strode up to the far end of the long oval council table. In turn, he nodded at Lord Nessleton, Sergeant Folsun, Father Wilmont, Friar Puck and Bonelord.

  Lord Nessleton nodded back. No one had taught him more about archery than Granger.

  Father Wilmont nodded, and smiled. He had good memories of the many days Granger graced the grounds of the monastery in his youth as he trained with the Aaronites.

  Sergeant Folsun nodded with respect. The ranger and his companion had rescued him and his patrols from no less than three ambushes during the many times they had traveled through the Wooddam Forest.

  Friar Puck raised two fingers and made a cross, blessing the good ranger. He could not count how many recently orphaned children and widowed wives Granger had led safely to his cobble after rescuing them in the woods.

  Finally, Bonelord nodded with respect. Granger Greyhound was known to be a true friend of the king. It was said that the king even trusted him with secrets he did not share with his Bane Knights.

  Granger removed his hood. “I will not keep you long my countrymen. I expect to be departing again soon when you have heard my report. What has happened here is the work of an assassin known to us all…’The Ferret’!”

  “The Ferret!!” The name was blurted out by so many at once it was impossible to tell who had spoken it first.

  “Even so.” Said Granger. “Knowledge shared with me by the Third Knight himself, the one they call Swift.” Granger looked at Bonelord as he said the name. Bonelord gave him a quick look of comprehension and looked away. Granger reached into his pocket and took out the message Swift had given him. He handed it to Aranoor who glanced at it before handing it to Folsun who did the same and handed it to Lord Nessleton. At last it came to Bonelord.

  “Beware The Ferret. He is loose. Intends to do great harm to persons large and small. Guard all festivities and fairs.”

  “Sergeant Folsun did we receive this message.” Bonelord said holding up the receipt Swift had retained when he sent it and later given it to Granger.

  “I fear not. This message bears the mark of a trained Tapper. Which leaves no doubt that Swift sent it but the royal Tapper was killed in the fire Lord Protector. All of our messages since that time have been sent and received by Operators.”

  “Meaning it was sent too late.” Lord Nessleton said.

  “All the same it confirms what Granger has reported.” Said Bonelord. “This is the work of the assassin. Many times did our liege charge young knights with the quest of bringing that killer to justice and never did one return. Finally, it was agreed that such a quest was not proper for so young knights. One of the Bane Knights was to be given the quest but alas the king never chose which one prior to his untimely demise.” Bonelord let the message drop from his hand and went silent. Those in the chamber sat in silent reflection as well. At length, Granger spoke again.

  “I am no knight Lord Protector but I would take up this quest.”

  “After he has struck, he hides well. I am not sure if even one trained such as you could find him. And if you found him I am less certain that even you could kill him. But tell me what you need and it shall be yours.” Said Bonelord.

  “Papers Lord Protector. Papers charging all who I encounter to give me aid and make what they know known to me under order of the crown!” Granger was passionate and looked Bonelord right in the eye.

  “A letter of marque?” Bonelord said. “Of course. So you would travel to those places only one such as you could go but with the same authority as a knight of the land.”

  “Exactly my lord. It may make the difference and allow me to do what no other has done before.” Said Granger.

  “Corner the Ferret.” Whispered Lord Nessleton.

  “You shall have it Granger! Signed by my hand and sealed with the king’s signet!” Bonelord rose.

  “Lord Protector? There is one other matter that must be seen to.” Father Wilmont spoke before the First Knight could start out of the chamber. Mya handed him a scrap of parchment.

  “Yes Father? What have we overlooked.” Said Bonelord.

  “The matter of Mayor Brufson - the mayor of Milestill. It has been confirmed that Alfred, the boy’s father, was the mayor’s brother and the boy his nephew.”

  Bonelord sat back down and slumped as he looked over at Lord Nessleton. Lord Nessleton sighed and Father Wilmont continued.

  “Who shall convey the news to the mayor?” the Father looked at Sergeant Folsun.

  “I thought it prudent to prevent any messages regarding the boy or his father from being sent.” Sergeant Folsun said looking at Bonelord. “Seeing as such news should be delivered in person, with regret and respect in equal measure.” He said.

  “Pardon me Lord Protector.” One of the two outside sentries came in and spoke before anyone else could say anything.

  “There is a monk outside who reque
sts an audience with Father Wilmont.”

  “A monk?” Said Father Wilmont. “Which one of my acolytes would disturb me at a time such as this?” He said looking at Mya.

  “Father, he says his name is Midas. He is from Milestill.” Said the sentry.

  Everyone stared at each other immediately upon hearing the name of the town, thinking the same thing. Then the Lord Protector spoke.

  “Bring him in sentry. Bring him in at once!”