CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rain poured down in sheets. The cloak draped about his shoulders wasn’t nearly thick enough to keep out the wet, and his clothing underneath was already growing damp. It wasn’t long before a chill started to seep into his bones. He shivered. Below him, his mount trod along, its hooves covered in mud from the road, its mane and flank soaked, yet seeming none too discomforted. Together, mount and rider, turned off the road and toward the forest.
If he had thought the cover of trees above might lessen the damp, he was sadly mistaken. It only slowed the sure course of water from above, the rain being so heavy it was only momentarily deterred, forced to make its way from leaf to leaf, down branches, and inevitably out in the open air again, and down onto him all the same.
Nikolis had made the journey down and out of the main gate of the town surrounding Highkeep, down the road for a time, and now was deep into the woods. He had never been to the home of this particular servant of the king but was assured the way was easy. Perhaps when Rogett Gilford had said that, he hadn’t accounted for such a miserable day. The sky was grey and depressing. No sunlight lit his path. When he was well into the forest, the thick canopy of trees above intensified the gloom.
Only dozens of dark tree trunks marked his path. Underfoot were thousands of leaves, brown and damp, so many in the thick of the wood that the earth was nearly obscured by them. It was many minutes, around twists in turns on a path that was little more than a glorified game trail, before he came to a small structure. It was a cabin of hewn logs and a slanted thatch roof, well protected from the elements in a clearing of tall, thick trees. The fall of rain nearly disappeared when Nikolis led his mount into the copse, so cleverly had the area been chosen.
After dismounting and tethering his horse to the low branch of a tree, he headed toward the home. As he was walking down the path of smooth, grey stones that led to the cabin, the door flew open, and a small, squat man burst forth. Nikolis took a step back, but the man paid him no mind, knotting shut a small leather pack as he headed around to the side of the cabin. His clothing was of leather and fur, from the badger pelt about his neck to the rough hide boots on his feet. The dark hair on his head was thin and greasy, and a week’s worth of stubble covered his face and chin. Squinty eyes looked out from beside a large, sharp nose, as deft hands worked at his satchel.
A portly woman, with grey hair that rested in a bun on the back of her neck, came soon after and followed him. She likewise paid Nikolis no mind, but immediately went to the small man, adjusting the pack that he had just slung over his shoulder. The man shrugged her off as he bent down and lifted a dark tarp from a massive shape beside the cabin. It was revealed to be a pile of cut timber and imbedded in one of the larger logs were several hatchets. One of these was worked free from the wood with ease and then slipped through a loop of leather on his pack. A knife, so large that its sheath ran nearly from the man’s hip to his knee, was drawn and inspected, and then slipped back into its place at his side.
“Crazy fool of a king to start out a journey in weather such as this,” the same man complained.
“Oh Tim!” the woman said, rushing over to him and taking his face into her hands. “Don’t say such as things.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“Enough woman,” the man replied, swatting her away. “We’ve to be off soon!”
There was no doubt in Nikolis’ mind now that this was, indeed, Timmer Garth, the king’s master scout. Loyal to a fault, said any in the keep that knew him, though the small, peevish man before him was certainly not what Nikolis had expected. Garth went around the cabin, then inside and out again, gathering up small tools and supplies and stuffing them into his pack, or in pockets or satchels or saddlebags, or sticking them in the appointed loops about his person.
Then the man whistled, and a grey gelding appeared from around the corner of the house and trotted over to him. Timmer threw his saddlebags over its flank, and then began to secure them and other packs to the animal. With surprising dexterity, the man leaped up into the saddle and brought the horse about. “Tyna!” he yelled.
A youth, with short dark hair, similarly attired to Garth, stepped out of the cabin, with as many packs and saddlebags. Though Nikolis was uncertain if Tyna, a few years younger than him by appearance, was a boy or a girl, he decided on the latter given the name and inclination of her features. As Timmer, she had dark hair, cut short, and wore dark leathers and a pair gloves with the fingertips cut off. She put those fingers to her mouth and let out a whistle of her own, distinctly different than her father’s, and a mare, younger and smaller of stature, rounded the same corner of the house and made its way obediently over to her. Tyna fed the mount something from her hand and then secured saddle and packs to the beast. She was in the saddle with almost as much ease as her father and was bringing her mount in line with his own within a matter of seconds.
Timmer raised a hand to his wife and then there was the rare hint of a smile on his face as he wheeled his horse around again, and toward the path that would lead them from the forest. Tyna started her mare after him, but then stopped, jumped out of the saddle, ran over to her mother and wrapped her in a hug, then sprinted back to her horse, sprang up into the saddle, and was off.
Nikolis could only stare in wonderment at the whole spectacle, still not a single word said to him during the entire event. The woman looked at him, gave him a smile, and patted his horse on the rump, which sent it off in the direction of the first two.
With unmistakable ease and a clear, keen, sense of his surroundings, Timmer Garth led them speedily down the path by which Nikolis had arrived, taking them surely to the road that would lead them to the keep, and in half the time that it had taken him to navigate it. Within minutes they were back out into the unmitigated rain, Timmer and Tyna pulling thick, woolen hoods over their heads, while all Nikolis could do was shiver in his damp cloak and wrap his arms around his chest, vainly trying to keep out the chill and hold on to his reins at the same time.
In little time he was again passing through the main gate of Highkeep town, though Garth then led them not straight ahead to the keep, but down the twists and turns of side alleys, taking them along a less conspicuous route to the castle gates. When they had dismounted and seen to their horses, they made their way inside the walls of Highkeep. Once in the keep itself, Nikolis shook out of his wet cloak and sought the nearby hearth of the main entry hall. There he hung his cloak on a rack by the flames and spread his palms out toward the warmth. Timmer and Tyna had already departed, apparently to make sure preparations were underway, while guardsmen and nobles all about the keep were preparing for the journey.
After he had warmed a bit, the chill slowing fading from his fingers and toes, he was reminded of where he was. Being in the keep only brought back the memories of the past few weeks. He had written letter after letter to Karlene, slipping them under her door, trying to explain what had happened, to get her to understand. Then, only later, asking what she had meant when she said those last words, before she had fled his chamber. After some time had passed, he even eventually mustered enough courage to try and see her. Always, though, he was only met by that same, stern chambermaid that guarded her door like a jailer, refusing to let him in or even to pass along what he had to say to the lady. The maid had even threatened to call the guards once, if he would not depart. A strange threat given that he was a member of the King’s Shield himself, but not so idle, given that any guard would question his insistence at entering the chambers of a member of the royal household.
After all such attempts he had departed downtrodden, miserable, depressed. The discomfort of the weather outside almost seemed nothing compared to the ache he still felt in his heart. He was unsure of how much time had passed, when he was stolen from his thoughts by a small voice.
“Sir?” it said, from behind him. Nikolis turned to see a small boy, in full page’s attire, awaiting him. The youth was clad in dark pants and white shirt, his fair hair, nea
tly combed and parted down the middle.
“Yes?” Nikolis said, in response, unable to suppress a slight smile. It had been years now since he had performed those very same duties. Was I ever that young?
“I’ve come to fetch you,” the boy said.
“Where am I to go?”
“He said you’d know.”
Nikolis scratched his chin. “Who?”
“Ah…” The boy started, looking to the ceiling in search of his thoughts. “M-master Gilford.”
“I see,” said Nikolis, nodding and standing. After patting the page on the shoulder, he pressed a copper coin into his hand and sent him along.
Within minutes he was high in the castle, in the secluded room in the back of the library where the King’s Shield held their meetings. Rogett Gilford was going over preparations for the journey that some of them were about to take, and what the rest of them would be doing while the others were gone.
Nikolis, of course, was to accompany the king on his journey – that, he already knew. Along with him would be Jerald Camber, Darus Lewin and Rowen Dunn. Rogett himself, along with the others, would be staying behind, a fact which did not seem to please him.
“It seems the King is concerned with the safety of his son,” Gilford said, rather gruffly, “and wants to make sure the Prince is well protected while he is gone.”
For their part, the other guards that were not leaving did not seem to mind. Most of them seemed happy enough to stay inside where it was warm and dry. The only one who seemed to be acting at all differently was Ronnell Moore, who continually fidgeted with his left hand, which was down at his side. A coincidence for sure, but Nikolis tried to ignore the fact that he knew that was the man’s sword hand, nonetheless.
“In addition to the four of you,” Rogett Gilford went on, indicating the four members who were going, “the King will be accompanied by a regiment of one hundred hand-picked keep guardsmen. This is in addition to near a hundred servants, a dozen carts, wagons, supplies and baggage train. Near three hundred men and supplies to feed them, will accompany you on your trip to Seaport.”
As Gilford went on about the preparations, and the instructions for the men that were going, and those that were staying behind, most of the men seemed to grow bored. Though Darus and Jerald did seem to have a bit of light in their eyes, both seeming somewhat eager, anticipating the trip. Looking at the rain coming down hard outside and thinking about the horrid conditions the road must be in because of it, Nikolis had a hard time imaging why. Though, for his own part, the idea of seeing the Coastal Kingdom did light a spark of interest in his mind. Great things had been said of the southern city – shops and a great library, magnificent works of art, architecture and other wonders to see.
It would mean leaving Karlene behind – his hopes, his dreams. The Lady of Highkeep would not be coming along. She would be staying in the castle with Erad, to continue her tutelage with him in courtly ways. “The road is no place for a girl,” Rogett Gilford had said, when he had listed off Karlene as one of those that would not be going. Nikolis smiled to himself at that. He does not know the girl. He also took some personal enjoyment in the fact that he knew something about her that others did not.
It got him thinking more and more about Karlene and their relationship. As Rogett went on about what their duties would be on the road to, and once they were at, Seaport, he found his mind wondering despite his best efforts to concentrate on what was being said. As the orders continued, Nikolis began to sweat, and he had to fight to control his breathing. An absurd feeling of anxiety began to creep over him. At first, he wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but after running the back of his hand across a brow damp with sweat several times, he realized what was going on.
Nikolis would be going off on the road to Seaport and Karlene would be staying behind. For the first time in years, since they had first met in fact, they would be parted. As long as they were close it always seemed that things might work out, that he at least he had the chance to try and talk to her, to leave her notes, at the very least to see her. Once he left those options would all but disappear. There would be no chance to make amends, to make her understand what had happened, to talk to her, to ask her all the questions that were burning inside him, and to tell her all of the things that he wanted to say.
Suddenly standing in the small room of the library, listening to Rogett Gilford continuing to brief them, became more than he could bear. Nikolis began to clench his fist, to grab at the leg of his pants, balling the material up in his hand. After a while he stopped hearing Rogett’s words, only comprehending a blur of intonations from the man, and when they were finally dismissed, Nikolis turned on his heels and fled from the room faster than he probably should have. In the back of his mind he imagined, almost feared, that the others in attendance had turned their heads in confusion at his departure, mouths agape, but right now he didn’t care.
Nikolis sprinted down the keep hallways, taking corners so recklessly that he almost ran into a scullery maid, then climbing flights of stairs, two at a time. When he finally came to the door he sought, he knocked and then began to pace back and forth with impatience. When there was no answer, he knocked again.
Finally, the lady’s servant opened the door a crack, but when she saw who was without, she quickly went to close it. Nikolis tried to dash forward and wedge himself inside the doorframe, but he only managed to get a single hand through. He tried desperately to push the door open, but the old woman’s strength proved to be greater than he had anticipated. She fought back, and with him having rashly rushed into the situation, he was off-balance enough to be shoved backward by her efforts. If his reflexes had been any less sharp, he would not have gotten his fingers away from the edge of the door before it was slammed shut.
After only a moment’s pause, he was running down the hall again, this time downward. He emerged from the Ladies Garden in moments, brushing past all manner of topiaries. When he was a ways out onto the ledge, he turned around and stared upward. The layout of the keep was well enough known to him now, so that he was certain that the ledge above was the balcony adjoining Karlene’s chambers. Surveying the walls, the rails of the balcony and the variety of statuary in the garden, he searched for any way he might get up to the ledge. But it was no use. It was some twenty feet high; there was no way he could make it up there. The walls were too sheer; there was nothing to climb up on that would get him close enough to reach the ledge.
After pointless pondering and searching of the surrounding area, he began to pace again. Nikolis raised a fist to his mouth and bit at it. Then, after glancing up forlornly one last time, he saw the solution to his problem. Above Karlene’s balcony there was another, set back even further, and off to the left. It would be difficult, he knew, but it just might work. Without another thought, analysis that might weaken his resolve due to the dangers involved in what he was about to attempt, he was back inside the keep, climbing higher up in the castle.
After searching a few rooms that had no windows let alone balconies, he finally came upon a storeroom of little remark. He rushed past a pile of crates and found what he was looking for. As he advanced out onto the small balcony that jutted out from the chamber, wind ripped at his clothing and exposed skin. When he came to the short rail that bordered the edge, he peered over and cursed.
Karlene’s ledge was indeed below, but now that he was looking down at the situation, it was much further to the left than it had seemed from below and nearly thirty feet down besides.
He fell to his knees, and then sat back against the ledge. There was no way he would make it. He was going to have to leave without speaking to her. Perhaps something would happen to him while he was away – maybe he would never see her again.
With that thought he grit his teeth and stood, marching back into the storeroom. He ripped the cover off of a crate, rummaged through the clothing inside, and then tossed it aside. The next was a box of candles and candlesticks, which he also pushed away.
After several more crates were opened, none of which contained what he needed, all that was left was a wide chest of lacquered wood. When he pried opened the lid he smiled.
Inside were all manner of linens: coverlets, bedding, quilts, and pillow shams. He pulled them all out hurriedly, searching for one that was the right size. Laying them out on the floor, he looked for the one that was the longest. When he had finally narrowed it down, he sighed. He walked back out to the ledge and looked down. It wasn’t nearly long enough.
Then inspiration hit. He rushed back inside and began to gather up all of the linens. Grabbing one after the other, he knotted them together as tightly as he could manage. Then he went over to the ledge, threw the length of his makeshift rope over the rail, drew it back in, and knotted it around the railing. The other end he took in his hand and then wrapped it around his arm. He took a few steps back and then ran toward the ledge as fast as he legs would take him and jumped over.
For a few moments he felt as light as feather, falling through the air as if nothing else mattered. Then the length of makeshift rope came to an end, grew taut, and with that he slammed to a halt. Momentum ripped at the arm that clung fiercely to the rope, broke free his grasp, and then he was falling again. It occurred to him briefly that his shoulder burned painfully, but then he hit something hard with a crash and all other thoughts were obliterated from his mind.
Nikolis lay on the wet stone for some time. He imagined that he had missed the ledge below, that it was the ground he had struck. He envisioned all of the bones in his body broken, or worse, that he was dying, life now fading from him. Is this what it feels like to die? Thoughts only a haze on the edge of consciousness, no breath in your body, and pain, pain all over.
After a while he realized that he wasn’t dead, and when the shock of the pain in his arm and legs wore off, he realized he wasn’t that badly injured either. When he finally managed to stand, he saw that he had made the landing. That he was now on the balcony that extended off of Karlene’s chambers. He took a step toward the glass and iron doors ahead, but he had to stop, wincing in pain. There was a burning in shoulder, the joint might even be dislocated, and his ankle ached with the slightest movement.
The Last Swordsman Page 26