Jerald Camber laughed at that – a deep, belly laugh. “They’d not dare to attack a royal escort so large.”
“They’re more clever than you think. They’ll not launch an offensive against us, no, they’ll attack in small numbers at night, preying on any area of weak defense. They’ll take us piecemeal. We’ll make it to Seaport all right – but with fewer lives, and a little less blood. Following the river is the safest route after the harvest.”
“What of the river bandits?” Jerald shot back. “Mean Nake still runs his ships this time of year. They’ll attack us by water as we sleep on the banks of the White. Cut our throats, take our goods and our valuables, and make off down the river with the current on their side.”
“Mean Nake is no concern, if he’s still alive. Tales of his escapades were told in my father’s time, to frighten little children at night. They call him No-Eye now, but it makes no difference. If we strike out east, pick up the Kingspear and sail down it until it meets the White, we’ll bypass most of the dangerous areas. I know well enough how to avoid any left, who prey from the river.”
“May well because you’re a brigand yourself,” said Camber, with a snort.
“Say that again!” demanded Garth, a hand on the hilt of the large knife he kept sheathed at his waist. Behind her father, Tyna jumped off her horse and pushed up her sleeves, small hands tightly closed in fists.
“Draw that and I will, little man!”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Darus Lewin, stepping between them. “We should not quarrel so in the royal presence.” The greycoat nodded behind him to where King Alginor sat on his fine, brown stallion. The beautiful creature was little more than a resting place for the frail monarch. The king sat slouched in his saddle, clearly paying little attention to the bickering of his guardsman and scout. The expression on his face was weary, stoic. His eyes made no apparent focus on any of his surroundings.
The glare he usually shot in Nikolis’ direction was decidedly absent as well, which had initially put Nikolis off a bit. He had prepared himself to confront the king about what had been done to his parents, no matter the circumstances. But every time he mustered the courage to look the old man in the face, to stare him down in the hopes that he would build up enough confidence to say to King Alginor all of the things that plagued his mind, he was met with that sad, blank, stare. All he could feel was pity.
“The road is the better path,” said Darus, continuing. “Trudging along the riverbanks is no place for a king.” When Timmer went to say something in response, Lewin added, “Am I correct, Your Grace?”
The king stirred, seeming to gain some awareness when he heard the title. “Hm? What was that?” He seemed to be straining to concentrate on the men standing before him.
“The High Road,” said Darus Lewin. “It is the best route for us. The only route appropriate for a king such as yourself.”
“Ah, yes. The High Road. That is the way.”
Timmer stepped forward and raised a plaintive hand. “But your majesty–”
“Enough,” said Darus, cutting him off, his usual gentleness of tone disappearing. “When the King speaks, we do not argue.”
“Aye,” said Garth, under his breath. He eyed the king, muttered something under his breath, and shook his head.
Nikolis breathed a sigh of relief that at least the confrontation was over. It was the fourth such quarrel that Garth had had with Camber and Lewin since leaving Highkeep a week ago. The end result was always the same, with the two brothers of the King’s Shield getting their way. Nikolis had even heard Garth mutter to himself that there was little point in him coming along on the expedition, if his services were not to be appropriately utilized. Of course, he had not put it so nicely. There was many a grumble and curse in the comment, when the grisly scout thought no one could hear him.
It had also become more and more apparent that the king would not intercede on Timmer’s behalf, continually going with whatever decision his guardsmen made. The entire entourage of nearly three hundred men and women, and two-dozen carts and wagons, was at the mercy of the two greycoats.
For Nikolis’ part, he hung back with Rowen Dunn, who seemed not to want to get involved. There was weariness in that old man’s posture as well. He didn’t sit his horse as tall or straight as Nikolis remembered, and when they stopped for the night, the old guard was fast asleep before Nikolis had even tethered his horse.
Some comfort at least did come when he took his evening meal. He sought out the campfire of Evar Dolbrand and sat and ate whatever stew the guards’ cook had managed that night, with Garley’s friendly brother. The only downside to those evenings was the inevitable appearance of Lirk Penderton, who had neither the wit nor the charm of his younger brother. Lirk seemed to despise Nikolis even more now that he was a member of the King’s Shield. He had grown used to the tall, broad man saying, “Hello Shield-Boy,” every night when the two crossed paths. The slight was little effectual, as Nikolis found it unoriginal and even confusing, but the contempt the guard felt for him was plain.
Evar had always had a natural, easy quality, though, and that had not changed. One just felt comfortable around him. Their conversations about friends and family became an anchor to home, as they moved further and further away from the castle. The vast majority of the men in the party had never been this far away from Highkeep, only perhaps traveling with their fathers when they were younger, to sell wares or goods in the next town over. Although Nikolis had been further south, he could barely remember those times now, and as they moved further and further down the High Road, he felt a bit of unease at how close they were coming to Lilton.
It was all he could do to push thoughts of the small town, and what had happened there, out of his mind. Soon enough they’d be beyond it. Perhaps it would be better to follow Timmer Garth’s advice. At least that way they would come nowhere near to Lilton. Garth was the king’s master scout, after all. Why does no one listen to him?
As the days wore on, the king was seen less and less often atop his horse. Instead, he spent much of his time in the large wheelhouse that had been brought for him. A squat, square structure, it was a massive thing set on four large, thick, spoke wheels. The wooden walls were painted red, and ornate designs were carved into the sides, and inlaid with golden paint, the image of a crown set at the center of each of its four sides.
When Nikolis chanced a look inside as they all bedded down one night, he saw a lavish enclosure with velvet pillows, finely crafted chairs, and a large bed. No doubt the king rested well in there, if he could stand the bumps in the road.
On one particularly lazy day, Nikolis took a bundle from his pack as his mount trod along, slowly behind those in front of them. In it were writing supplies that Fedwren had given him before he left Highkeep. “Quill and inkpot,” the man had said to him as he handed him the bundle. “And some fine vellum. Not your ordinary parchment, a smooth, beautiful material. The butcher is hesitant to slaughter an animal so young, but when circumstances require it, I can get my hands on some. It’s yours, to record your travels. I’ll want to read it when I get back of course.” Then the old man had smiled at him and sent him on his way.
There was a wooden board included, that Nikolis tried his best to balance on his leg as he rode, so that he could write. Still he did not do the fine vellum justice, his characters crooked and jagged, his sentences slanted. In the end he decided it would be best to write what he could at night, before he went to sleep. It was just too difficult to maintain a steady hand.
The further south they went, the worse the road conditions became. “There was a day when this road was kept in the best state of repair, from Highkeep to Seaport,” Rowen Dunn remarked, as they paced along, side by side, on their horses. “Now it’s rare that anyone tends to it this far south. Only so many miles out from each village, town or city, will you see it well kept.” There was that sadness again in the aging guardsman’s eyes as he spoke.
“Has so much changed si
nce you were young?” Nikolis decided to ask, on one such occasion.
Dunn looked at the landscape around him and smiled for a moment. “Much and nothing.”
After that he went back to talking about all that had been lost. All that was no more. Places and friends he’d known. Inns along the road from Darry to Highkeep that had been burned down or boarded up when the family that ran it couldn’t make ends meet. The decidedly morose reminiscing dispirited Nikolis, who couldn’t help but feel wonder at every turn in their path.
There were so many new things to see – different trees, plants and flowers, new villages and towns. Faces all around that he didn’t know, whether passing them by on the road or in a village they stopped at for supplies. The ravens relished the open road as well. Mayjen and Jayjen spent most of their days soaring off into the distance, wheeling about, swooping low and climbing high, chasing one another. He had been hesitant to bring them at first, but no one had really seemed to notice the two birds resting on his saddlebags, or climbing upon his shoulder, from time to time. For the most part the others in the party kept to themselves, more concerned with their tasks than they were with the people around them.
It was decidedly odd, the reaction they received when they came to a new town or a village. Generally, the local inhabitants ignored them, unless they were dealing with them directly. There was no fanfare or celebration. Not even smiling children appeared, coming to see the long train. Most folk stayed out of their way and paid them little mind. There was wariness in their gazes. Watchfulness. As if the arrival of the King of Highkeep might actually cause reason for concern.
Days came and went, and soon they were passing the westward road to Darry. Nikolis held his breath as they went by a worn wooden sign on which the town’s name was carved. It took some doing, but he managed to purge from his head the sudden flurry of thoughts and emotions that the seeing the town’s name conjured.
Something odd happened a few days after that. As Mayjen rested on a rock off to the side of the road, a fox dashed from the woods without warning and was upon him. There was a flap of dark feathers, and for a few moments Nikolis felt as if there was a lump in his throat. But then Jayjen appeared out of nowhere flapping his wings and pecking at the fox. Somehow the two ravens managed to cow the creature, and send it running off, back into the woods.
Though it might seem a happening of little remark to most, something about the event bothered Nikolis, although he couldn’t be sure why. They were just birds after all. Though they had been with him for a long time, they couldn’t live forever. Then that night, as he was trying to drift off to sleep, he saw visions of the event happening again, except this time the fox did catch the raven. He would see the bird struggling within the chomping jaw of the creature; hear its shrill cries, and then he suddenly sprang upward from his sleeping roll, unsure if the events were a dream or if they had really happened.
There were a few more days of quiet after that, and then they were at it again. Jerald Camber and Timmer Garth were yelling at each other, before a massive, fallen tree that spanned the length of the entire road. It obstructed any chance the king’s wheelhouse or any of the carts of moving forward. At least until it could be cleared, which according to Garth might take days. The gruff scout was arguing again that they should head east. “We can still catch the White,” he said, “with little time lost.”
“The road is the route we take,” said Camber. “We must move the King ahead with haste. Leave the carts behind with a dozen of the strongest men to move this thing out of the way. Don’t you see that this all could be a trap? An ambush set by highwaymen?”
“Aye,” said Timmer. “I do. I warned you of this from the start. Striking out east is still our best option. It’s the path least likely. If this were to be a trap, they’d never expect it.”
Jerald leaned down and put his face close to the scout’s. “Unless they’re getting their information from someone.”
“Again, with that!” Garth yelled, his hand going to his knife. “I’ve warned you about tossing about those accusations so casually!”
“You don’t warn me little man!” spat Camber.
“What is all of this about?” croaked the king, poking his head out from the doorway of the wheelhouse. “What is going on?”
“Nothing, Your Grace,” said Darus Lewin. “Nothing at all. Go rest, I will take care of this.”
“Do not tell me what to do,” said the king, stepping down from the over-sized cart.
“Of course not, Your Grace,” Lewin said, bowing. “I only meant–”
“Never mind that,” said King Alginor, cutting him off. “What is going on?”
“There is a fallen tree blocking our path, Your Grace,” said Darus. “Nothing of great import.”
“Well then move it.”
“It is rather large, Your Grace,” said Lewin. “Though, we will of course. It will only take some time. That is all.”
“Yes, well, get to it.”
As the king began to turn back to the wheelhouse, Darus spoke, causing him to turn around. “Timmer proposed we move east, again, a silly notion. While Jerald wants to move you forward – for your protection, of course. In case this is a trap. Not that it is likely.”
“Hmph,” King Alginor breathed. “Yes, I think we should move forward.” The old monarch started back down from the wheelhouse and moved toward where his horse was being led by a handler.
“I’ll pick some men to accompany us, Your Grace,” Lewin offered. “Just a few, so that we may move swiftly.”
“Yes, of course.”
Darus motioned for Jerald and Rowen to come with him, and then picked Lirk Penderton and another guard Nikolis did not know, from the crowd. The two keep guards were given horses, as they normally had walked or ridden in carts thus far, and the small group began to move forward, a newly mounted King Alginor at the lead. As Nikolis watched them move ahead on the road, moving around the fallen tree, a shiver ran down his spine.
Ahead the surrounding foliage grew closer and closer to road. It was clear it had not been cut back in years. As the road bent around, and forward, it created a path of little visibility. The entire scenario just did not seem right, so Nikolis edged his horse forward, as if to follow them. Darus noticed this immediately and shot him a questioning glance.
“I should come,” said Nikolis.
“No,” said Darus, “you should stay here. Guard the entourage. It is important.”
“My duty is to the King. Not to the servants and baggage train. There are plenty of keep guards to watch over the people and the supplies.”
“We all have to play our part,” Darus chided. “Rogett Gilford said I was to take charge in these matters. It is important to see that the servants and supplies remain unmolested.”
“They’ll be fine,” Nikolis replied. “I’m coming.”
Darus looked at him, incredulous. “Nikolis–”
“Let him come,” said the king, not looking back.
“But, Your Grace–”
“I’m not used to being questioned. Though it seems to have become increasingly popular of late.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Darus said, solemnly, and after a final sneer in Nikolis’ direction, they were off.
Without the enormous train of horses, carts and men following them, the group made good time. When the sun had begun to set on the horizon, they had covered several miles and the fear of running into any trouble seemed to have been all for not. The tight tunnel of close trees that they had ridden through for several hours, started to disperse. The air was crisp and clear, and the path widened. The trees grew further and further back from the road, as they were now clearly close enough to Seaport to find evidence of caretaking, and even the dirt below was more recently packed. Gone were the ruts and rocks they had grown accustomed to.
Nikolis allowed himself a slight smile. His worry had been all for not. He let his shoulders relax, for the first time realizing he had been tensing them. They were so
re, but it felt good to loosen them up. All seemed well, that was until the distinctive crack of a twig sounded from the rear, causing them all to bring their horses around.
Behind them in the road stood a solitary man, dressed in worn leathers, once dark, now cracked and faded. He was a short, but wide man, with a coarse, dark beard, and dark eyes. He held aloft in his hands a thick, rusty short sword. With a twang an arrow soared form the trees and struck the king’s mount, which reared into the air and threw the old man. Nikolis raced to cover him, but then two more men crashed from the trees behind them, and scrambled onto the road, swords at the fore.
The horses went wild, bucking and rearing, and Nikolis fought to keep his mount under control. Faster than he would have thought possible, the first man was in beside him and before Nikolis could rest enough control of his mount to draw his sword, he was on the king.
The man had King Alginor and was rushing back with him before anyone could move. The other two men, similarly attired, though both gaunt and skinny, rushed in and slashed at the mounts of the rest of the party, as arrow after arrow continued to rain down upon them.
Before the group had time to recover, the three brigands were outside of the circle, the first holding his sword to the king’s throat, while the other two took positions around them. The bowman materialized from the woods, a shaft drawn and ready, and together the four of them effectively surrounded the riders.
“Off your horses,” roared the man holding the king.
“You vile scum,” Jerald Camber shot back.
“Off or I cut his throat,” said the man.
“Do so and we’ll run you down,” Darus Lewin shot back, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.
Rowen Dunn tried to motion patience to the other two guards, but they ignored him.
“Twig and Barr,” called the man, to the two sword-wielders. “Get the reins.”
The Last Swordsman Page 28