The Mercenary Trilogy Boxed Set, page 59
part #1 of The Mercenary Series
“What do you wish me to do—follow them and . . .?” Keel’s eyes were still watching the bird, much like a lazy cat on a hot summer’s afternoon.
“Not right away,” Caswallon said. “Let blustering Nogel go back to Kelwyn and rant about his visit. Once he’s cleared the air, that fool will take to hunting again—that’s when you come in, Keel. Just you this time. I’m not wasting anymore men, clear?”
Keel nodded indifferently. “How shall I do it?”
“I will provide an opportunity.” Caswallon smiled. “Open a door so that you can slip away unnoticed. I have powerful allies who need proof of my loyalty to their cause. Do this, and we can move on to the next, considerably more important task. We will receive help with that—I’m assured of their assistance.”
“Sorcerers?” Keel looked uncomfortable.
“You don’t need to know anything else,” Caswallon told him. “Do your job and no games, killer. Ride out at your leisure and get lodging close to the border, or in Kelwyn if you prefer. Await my signal.” He waved a brief hand. “I’ll bid you good day, Assassin.”
Caswallon turned his back on Keel and walked through the gardens. It has started. Tonight, he would summon the Old Ones again and speak of his plans. He turned once to see if Keel still lingered, but there was no sign of the man. The Royal Gardens were quiet, the only sound was the persistent blackbird under that bush.
***
Ariane sat bolt upright in bed, the sweat streaming down her face. She was shaken badly and dressed quickly, yelling at her maids to get her tea. Once she had had a few sips of the hot liquid, the princess felt strong enough to walk out on the balcony, the star-studded void and shimmer of Lake Wynais seemed to float all around her. She felt giddy, almost sick.
A dream like no other. A vision—but what had it meant? She sipped her tea and ate a light breakfast, her swift busy mind processing the dream. She needed help with this one and decided to seek out the High Priest in the temple.
She wasted no time walking at speed to the temple. Once there, Ariane slipped inside unannounced. She saw several priests busy either with prayer or hard at study. Eventually she found him. Lord Dazaleon. He was lighting candles over by the altar, the Goddess’s statue looming above, her sightless eyes seemed to watch Ariane’s approach.
Ariane made the sacred sign and pulled the hood back from her face. If Dazaleon was surprised by this unannounced visit, he didn’t show it. He smiled kindly, bid her kneel before the Goddess on a velvet cushion. He joined her in prayer for a moment and then gently shook her shoulder.
Ariane opened her eyes to see his calm blue gaze upon her. “Come child—we’ll speak of this in private.” He led her to a covered cloister, an alcove framed with green velvet, and a heavy oak door that closed with a soft thud behind them.
“You had the Dreaming,” Dazaleon said, before she could speak. Ariane nodded. She still felt slightly sick, weakened by those powerful images that continued to hover and drone like so many busy bees inside her head.
“The Royal Dreaming.” The High Priest smiled. “Your mother had it, grandmother too.”
“I was frightened,” Ariane said. “The visions were lucid and shocking . . . I . . . fell.”
“Tell me, and fear nothing. The Goddess watches over us here.”
She shook slightly, wished there was tea available. Eventually she spoke. “I was falling for a long time, into darkness. A horrible emptiness that sucked and smothered my person . . . down.”
“The Void,” Dazaleon said. “Where the dark things are.”
“It pulled me down and down, and I felt as if I was choking. Then I saw a light far below. Tiny at first, but it grew. The light was calling me and I fought my way toward it. The dark tried to trap me, but the light grew so strong it won through, chasing back the shadows and I was free.”
“But then the light vanished entirely—a candle snuffed by invisible fingers. I fell again, but this time settled in cool damp earth. I looked up. A circle of stones surrounded me. They started spinning, slowly at first then faster and faster. I felt sick—I still do.” She shuddered slightly.
“Go on, child,” the High Priest smiled reassuringly.
“They stopped—the stones. They were so tall, leaning over me. I fell on my face, Dazaleon—felt the damp cold touch again. I heard a voice calling out from far away, then an explosion and shards of light tore at my garments and cut my flesh.”
“I saw a crown of light falling through blackness,” she said as tears welled at the corner of her eyes. “Heard it crash and explode into fragments. Someone laughed cruelly and then I woke.” She looked hard at his calm strong face. “I dreamed of the Tekara, didn’t I?”
Dazaleon nodded slowly. He stood up and felt the door handle as though concerned someone listened from outside. He looked worried, concerned for her yet also frightened. A look she’d never seen before.
“I feared this,” Dazaleon said. “A warning.”
“The Tekara?”
“…Is vulnerable for the first time in a thousand years—at the mercy of an ancient evil.”
Ariane looked at him puzzled. “The Void was calling you, Princess. Or rather those creatures within it. They sensed your latent . . . talent. Know you for their enemy.”
“Who are they?”
“The Old Ones. The Urgolais. Someone has woken them from their long sleep,” Dazaleon said.
“Caswallon,” Ariane said. “He means to destroy the Tekara by using sorcery, shatter the hold it has on our realms?”
“I suspect so, but there is more. You dreamed of the Oracle. The sacred glade where stand those stones. It’s where our Goddess holds court among her secret people—the Fain. One of the few places in Ansu where she can appear in person.”
“The Goddess was summoning me?” Ariane was shocked, scared.
“It seems so,” Dazaleon said. “We must make plans, my child. Plans for you to visit the Forest of Dreams.”
“That’s where the Oracle lies? Where is it?”
“Deep inside Kelthaine—what I now fear is enemy country.”
“Do I go there alone?”
“No, child.” He smiled at her courage. “Let us think on this—wait until your father returns.”
“I don’t want him to know.”
“But he’s the king, Ariane.”
“I know—but I’d sooner keep this between the two of us, at least until I can get my head straight.”
Dazaleon nodded slightly. “Go back to the palace. Sleep, or rest and drink tea. We’ll move on this later today. Discounting your father, is there anyone else you would share counsel, trust?”
“Silon of Raleen, and Roman Parrantios—he’s back you know.”
“Not before time, and yes—the king’s champion should be made aware. Silon is sound. Anyone else?”
“Galed my scribe, and my cousin Tamersane.” Dazaleon frowned hearing those last names.
“Galed is hardly a stalwart, Princess. And your cousin Tamersane is an idle sloth, a pest to every lady at court. A wastrel and dreamer.”
“He’s a sunny heart I’ll grant you,” she said. “But Tam has a sharp mind, and a hunch tells me we will need him.”
Dazaleon stared at her for a long moment and then nodded. “Summon them to the temple this evening. After prayers—the later the better. We need utter discretion. I’m saddened to add that I cannot trust all my priests. I fear Caswallon’s arm has reached us even in here. Go, Princess—we will speak more on this later.”
Ariane nodded and thanked him. She replaced the hood covering her features and returned briskly to the palace. She was exhausted and worried and slept for several hours, awakening to the news that her father had returned to the city in a rare foul mood.
Chapter19 | Wind and Ruins
“The king’s back.” Stane leaned out the window and watched the throng mustering close to the gates. “A hero’s welcome—the people love Nogel.”
“Warriors are always popular with the masses,” Silon said, looking up from his parchment. “They’re also thickheaded and stubborn.”
Stane assumed he was speaking of Corin an Fol, and not the king. Maybe both.
“Don’t fall.” Silon glared at him. “I’m short staffed currently. People keep dying or running off.”
Stane moved back and shut the window. “What’s your plan?” he asked the merchant. Silon made an exasperated gesture and stood up, rubbing his eyes.
“I was working on that but your constant chattering renders me numb. Go see what’s going on out there, what the king is saying . . . anything. Find out what you can.” Stane flashed him a grin and left via the side door. Silon watched him leave and then sighed.
Stane was a good man, reliable and thoughtful. Such folk were on short supply. He’d gotten back yesterday with news of the events at the bridge. Curse Nogel for a damn fool, and Corin an Fol for a bigger one. And Yazrana—he’d expected better from her. That woman should have more sense. Both of them off on some personal vendetta against the brute Postin. Ignoring what mattered most. The fool king’s protection.
Whatever game Keel was playing, he would strike soon. Call it a hunch, but Silon knew this game was playing out. Why the assassin hadn’t already acted, Silon couldn’t hazard a guess. But he knew Keel was as crafty as he was deadly. Playing his own game, and doubtless wrenching more coin from that conniver up north.
But Keel was already rich, so why the delay? He’d had many opportunities due to Nogel’s obtuse stubbornness, putting his life and—more importantly—his realm in danger time after time. And what was Caswallon up to? Silon felt frustrated and irritable. He needed facts and they were slow in coming. And he needed Corin an Fol.
Silon went to pour himself a drink, and then stopped as Stane reappeared, looking red-faced and puffing, having just sprinted up the stairs.
“What . . .?”
“You’re summoned to the temple . . . this evening. No one is to know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This.” Stane produced a roll of parchment and passed it across. Silon snapped it open.
“You broke the seal?”
“Wasn’t one,” Stane said. “A priest was waiting outside, shoved it in my hand and told me to give it to you.”
“And you’ve read it.” Silon glared at him for a moment and then unrolled the scroll. A letter from Princess Ariane. Short and to the point.
Silon.
Caswallon means to usurp the throne. We are on the brink of war.
I need you to attend a secret council this eve.
Come to Elanion’s Temple after dusk.
The priest will let you in.
Ariane of Kelwyn.
“What do you think?” Silon asked Stane after a moment. War? He knew it was coming but why did she seem so certain? And how could she know what he didn’t? Silon liked to be ahead of the facts. That wasn’t happening today.
“Can’t involve the king as he’s only just returned,” Stane said. “She must have heard something.”
“You think?” Silon cursed at his own sarcasm. “Look, Stane—I’m grateful you’re here and that you had the sense to report back to me, and not run off with that idiot longswordsman. But please go and find out what you can about what the fuck is going on.”
“I’m on it,” Stane said, leaving him alone a second time. Silon retired to his chair. He had a few hours before dusk, so he’d spend that time in deep contemplation. He needed to be sharp tonight. If they were entering a new stage in this struggle, he wanted to be at the front.
***
Postin crashed through the door, kicking splinters and then lurched forward, his hammer held ready. “Dooly!” Shadows danced, cast by lanterns flickering. He saw movement and jumped after it. Just a cat, it vanished under tables. Clutter everywhere. Postin wiped his mouth. He was sweating, his belly full of ale and head light. Dooly?
The trader should be here, and so should Postin’s gold. He searched around, passing from room to room and becoming increasingly angry when he found nothing. The candles had burnt down low. Carne Dooly had gone. Escaped. Postin swung his hammer in rage and stuck a heavy wooden desk, smashing it in two. He swung again, this time taking out a large chunk of wall.
He saw movement. The cat? Bigger. He raised the hammer again and heard a sob. “Come out,” Postin said, staring at a tall cupboard in the corner of the room.
A whimper, and then the shuffle of feet. A girl stood there. A servant, perhaps sixteen. Her teeth looked bad and her mousey hair covered her face. “Look at me,” Postin said, then added, “I won’t hurt you—it’s Dooly I want. Owes me money.”
“Gone,” the girl said, brushing her tangles away with a finger. She was comely enough in Postin’s opinion. He felt sorry for her, left all alone in here. He took a step forward, meaning to placate, but she jumped back in horror, her shoulders thudding against the wall and knocking off more plaster.
Postin leaned the pole-axe against the broken wall and folded his massive arms. “Listen lovely, I’m half drunk and mad as hornets with your master. I need to know where he is. Dooly owes me gold. Gold, girl—can you imagine? Lots of it. I’m to be wealthy. I could help you.” He smiled and the girl shrunk back again. “I’m not as bad as I look,” Postin said quietly, feeling hurt by the horror in her eyes. He could feel the tears welling in his own. Why did he always get so melancholy after drink?
The girl looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. Postin grinned at her. That didn’t help. He reached for his pole-axe. “I’ll leave,” he said. “Sorry about the mess. When your master comes back, tell him Postin the Hammer wants to talk to him. Goodbye.” Postin turned away, the tears streaming down his cheeks.
“He’s gone to Highreach Hall,” the girl whispered, and Postin turned.
“Where’s that?”
“It’s a ruined castle, just off the coast road.”
“Which way?”
“North. There’s a crossroads and a sign. Last time I passed by, it was faded bad.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Been past it with my father. He pointed the sign out to me and told me our master had just purchased it. Said it was a very bad place . . .”
“How far?”
“Twenty miles. Why are you crying?”
“I’m misunderstood.” The girl looked at him askance and Postin risked another smile. “You’ve been very helpful,” he said. “I’ll come back.”
“Please don’t,” the girl said, wiping hair from her face again. He left her standing there and departed the house without further fuss. Once back in the inn, Postin woke the patron and settled his debt. The man was half asleep but seemed relieved to be rid of him. Postin went outside to saddle Challenger.
He reached the crossroads at dawn and saw the faded sign. Highreach Hall.
A narrow track led down through woods and bracken. He could smell salt in the air and heard a roaring, the ocean somewhere below. Postin smiled as he thought of the gold he’d get after he’d shattered Dooly’s weasel face. The man shouldn’t have crossed him. First Carne Dooly, then that lanky longsword. After that he’d change his ways, become respectable. Perhaps the townsfolk would like Postin the Hammer more when he had money to spend.
***
“I think he might have left in a hurry.” Corin looked at the broken door and plaster and splinters strewn everywhere. “Hammer work—I’d say. Not overly subtle.” Yazrana nodded. “Postin must have got here first.”
“I’ll go see,” the woman said. She passed him her horse’s reins and made for the door.
“Wait,” Corin said. “Someone’s inside. I saw movement. Let me go in instead.”
“I don’t need a fucking nursemaid,” she told him and vanished inside the door. Minutes later she reappeared with a nervous girl alongside.
“This is Clarna,” Yazrana said. “Works for Carne Dooly. Poor girl’s terrified. Said an eight-foot monster broke the door down and dribbled over her.”
“He was crying,” the girl said. They looked at her. “Seemed sad.”
“He will be when I catch up with him,” Corin said.
“Tell him what you told me, Clarna.” Yazrana smiled at the girl.
“The monster said my master owed him gold. He also said he wasn’t as bad as he looked, and nobody understood him.”
“The other bit,” Yazrana said, when Corin scratched his head.
“He’s away north to the haunted mansion.” Corin looked at Yazrana, who shrugged. “Highreach Hall,” she added, as though that explained everything.
“Why would he go there?” Corin asked.
“The master bought it a while back. An investment—what my father says. It’s abandoned and ruined and hard to find. Spect he went up there to hide from the monster.”
“Spect so,” Corin nodded. “Where is this place?” After she’d told them, Yazrana put a large silver coin in Clarna’s fist.
“For you and your father,” she said. “Go work for someone honest.” The girl stared at the coin, and they left her and the merchant’s house behind.
“Back to the coast road,” Corin said as they guided their horses through the city gates. “Almost nostalgic.” Yazrana didn’t respond, but her face looked sad.
“What’s wrong, Yaz?” But she wouldn’t tell him so he let her be. It was mid-morning when they reached the faded sign that pointed left, where a track vanished into gorse and bracken. Corin smelled the sea and smiled.
Get this done and I’m going home . . .
A mile ahead, he saw stone peeping through the gaps in gorse. A tumbledown of broken pillars and the caved-in roof of what must have been an expansive residence. They stopped by a clump of low thorns. “Best tie our horses here,” Yazrana said. Corin nodded and together they dismounted, the sound of waves crashing somewhere far below. A sound that made Corin think of his lost home.
“Be good—we’ll be back soon,” Corin told Thunderhoof as the horse looked at him mournfully.
“Do you always speak to that horse?” Yazrana asked him.
“He understands me,” Corin said and she rolled her eyes.
