Black Kerthon's Doom, page 12
"Neheva?" asked Gareth.
"Don't you recognize me, Gareth?"
"Actually, no."
"The night throws shadows on everything. Did I look foreboding and evil?" Her voice was merry and musical.
"I don't know what to say."
"Why do you want to come with us?" asked Mira. "You had no such inclination last night."
"That is true. But there is so much of the world that I have not seen. And my home will remain. No one will bother it. In fact, the years are long since anyone came of their own free will. Perhaps I need a change."
"I'm not sure I would like that," said Gareth.
"The choice is not yours. You have no power over me." She gave him a knowing look as if tempting him.
Gareth muttered to himself and cursed magic in all its forms. Why couldn't every strife be settled by a battle of wits. Magic has no place in this world, he thought. It had brought nothing but trouble and corruption.
"Did you always look as you do?" asked Gareth.
"And how should I look?"
"I meant no offense. But do you age?"
"What is age? I exist. If you ask if time changes me as it does yourselves, I would say no. Time does not wait for me or me for it. I have my own business to attend. You will never see me old and ancient, of that you can be sure. The trees in the forest will pass before I age."
"Will you help us against the soldiers?"
"Gareth, I am not coming as a soldier. Even you may not conscript me. I am merely going to observe. You must make your own decisions. I am not a part of your world. Mine is an older world where wars have no meaning and pride has no place."
"Where do we go?" asked Brice.
"We must cross the river again and head west towards our camp, then south in the wake of the Calendian army. I want to follow them to Nantitet, perhaps kill a few on the way. There is nothing left but to enter Nantitet and wage small warfare within the castle itself. There are many tunnels and hidden rooms. We should be able to be effective."
He looked at his comrades.
"It is difficult to reconcile myself to such actions. I hoped to fight the High King face to face on the battlefield, not sneak around in darkness like thieves."
"Life is full of surprises," said Neheva. "Perhaps you will get your wish in some form. But you must be content to take what is given you."
Gareth snorted and walked away.
They gathered their gear and began to head west out of the tangled forest. Neheva followed the rebels and many turned to look at her as they walked. It was either fear or curiosity, which made them look, but Neheva returned each glance with a smile.
They walked out of the woods and found the trail they had used coming down from the mountains. Their path took them near the river and the river flowed fast. Gareth thought how much quicker their journey would be if they could cross the river now, rather than wait until they were further south. The threat of soldiers would be stronger the closer they came to Rhath.
There was a low bank where the trees drew close to the water. Tied to one tree was a raft. Gareth saw it first and stopped.
"We passed here," said Brice. "Why didn't we see this?" He looked at the witch, who just smiled.
"If it's sturdy, let's use it," said Gareth. "No sense getting wet."
It was stout and carried six at a time. Neheva followed with the last group and became ill. Brice looked at Gareth with a knowing expression. The witch cannot cross water. Some of the old wives' tales were true.
They made good progress and stopped for a late lunch, then pushed on again until nightfall. They camped in the open under the stars and chanced a fire. It was several miles to where the Calendian army had camped so they felt safe. Still, it was a small fire.
Gareth wanted to talk to Neheva but when he looked at her, his mouth dropped. Her skin was white again and her eyes took on the darkness of the night. She seemed taller and her face was more angular. There was no mirth in that face. No one sat near her.
"You wished to speak to me?" she asked in a harsh voice.
"You change with the coming of darkness."
"Is that what you wished to say?"
"No. We are getting near the tower. I was wondering what your thoughts were on it."
"I have been there, but it was complete then. And he was there in flesh. He is still there I think. But the flesh has long rotted."
"Is he as evil as legends say?"
"What is evil? I cannot judge by your standards, I am not human. Neither was he. He was powerful and willful. I do not know what he is now."
"When we pass by we hear the wind call to us and his name is carried in the air."
"A simple trick. Perhaps that's all the power that remains to him. Could we go there? Is it out of our way?"
"Not entirely. But it is perilous for us."
"Camp nearby and I shall visit the ruins alone."
"Will you return?"
"That is a strange question." Her dark eyes pierced Gareth. "Do you want me to? Or are you too happy to have me gone?"
"Good or ill, I don't know what you will mean to us. I must fight the High King or die trying. Any help I receive will be appreciated, but I don't need any more setbacks."
"Of course not. Who would? I will do what I will do. I promise nothing other than that."
When Macelan awoke, he saw the damp stone wall and the corridor leading to the room where he had found Daura. He tried to call out but his voice was hoarse. He got to his feet and walked around the courtyard. There were no other footprints but his own, and those were only from the spot he had been laying. It was as if he had flown to the courtyard. How had he reached the tower?
Then he remembered the voices in the wind and the dark shape that had towered over him. The icy cold hands that grabbed and the eerie voice that penetrated his mind and told him to sleep. His dreams had been dark, full of evil shapes and cries of terror and of a long bony hand reaching for his throat. He reached for his throat unconsciously and shuddered. The blackness around him appeared thick enough to touch. He thought he heard movement, his hair standing on end. He reached for the weapon he didn't have and slid toward a wall, placing it firmly at his back.
"So, you are awake." The voice was deep and seemed to rise up from the ground.
Time passed.
"I am. Who are you? And where are you?"
"You have heard my name. And I am here. My name is Scithers. My shape is not as definite as your own. Also the sun shreds my shape into slight patches unrecognizable by your eyes."
"What do you want?"
Pause.
"That is a question I could not answer in your lifetime. Be content that you live and naught worse shall come to you. Although there are some who say that living is the greatest curse of all."
"How did I get here?"
"I brought you on the wind. I have need of your service."
"My service? What can I do?"
The only sound was the wind. Macelan almost believed he was alone.
"You can be my eyes and ears. You can tell me what I want to know. I cannot move freely by daylight yet and much happens that is important to me."
"I don't understand why you picked me?" Macelan kept looking around to find the speaker but the voice did not come from the same place each time. He felt a chill and shivered. Suddenly there was a small fire before him. He did not ask questions but reached out his hands to the warming fire. It was real. He felt faint. The Sorcerer lives and Macelan must help him. He tried to push the thoughts away.
"You are not necessary to the rebellion, you are not necessary to your town. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. You are in some small way descended from my master. I can make you great or I can crush you with a thought. But I do not wish to frighten you, nor do I wish to force you to help me. I need your help. Will you help me?"
Make you great, he said. Macelan could have everything he wanted. Respect. Daura. Revenge against Gareth for abandoning him to the Amogrihens? Again, he battled against the temptations laid before him. Eternal wealth and damnation or death.
"No." He felt intense relief. But it was brief.
The winds howled and some of the stones toppled from the ruined walls. Macelan covered his ears and crouched into a ball. He felt debris hitting him and a few large pieces nearly knocked the wind out of him. He crawled along the damp dirt to the corridor and tried to enter the guardroom but there was a monstrous shape in the doorway. It came forward and he could feel the decayed evil sinking through his skin.
"You will help me!"
Macelan felt a terrific pain in his shoulder and saw a bony black hand squeezing it. The pain shot into his head and he saw the dark things hidden from the world. There were creatures never seen by man and there was evil. A large winged figure grinned at him and brushed his face with its claw. The evil left a foul taste in his mouth that would not pass, he saw into the pit that was the mind of Kerthon, and he remembered no more.
Chapter 9
"It is good, Janst," said the High King. "I am happy that you have done so well. There must be some festering disagreement that they brought with them. That is good. We shall be sure to break them apart and end their threat one by one. Which of the two do you think is my greater threat?"
"Kaell. He is too ambitious. He tries to succeed whatever the cost. It is the result that counts for him. There is something in his past that he is ashamed of and it drives him onward. I heard Prosty threaten him with it once. Prosty is a scholar of magic and counseling royalty seems beyond his experience. I believe Prosty would rather be doing something else. But I do not know what."
"Find out. I must know. It might be something I could use against him."
"Yes, your Highness." The small man softly drummed his fingers on the floor.
The High King concentrated on peeling his orange. He liked to watch the spray from the peel as his fingers dug into it. He never let a servant peel his fruit; it was something he looked forward to with glee.
"Anything else?"
"Kaell believes he has hired me to assassinate you."
"Has he?" The High King looked sharply at the little man. They sat in an antechamber off the throne room. It had two large sofas covered with pillows. High King Michak sat on one and picked sweet meats out of a bowl. Janst sat on the floor. Michak had almost decided against hiring Janst because of his unpredictable nature. He hoped it wouldn't cost him his life.
"You cut me to the quick, your Highness. How could you think that?" Janst pouted and the High King was reminded of his dead son, Mantan, the one who had treated him as a father, not as a High King as Ransal did.
"Never mind. I am going to call out Kaell. Do not be startled by anything I may say. I shall end this charade soon."
"I am seldom startled, your Highness. And I look forward to an interesting event." He bowed and left. The High King sat and ate for a few minutes and then clapped his hands. Two servants appeared and helped him onto his feet. He walked into the throne room and out onto the terrace. He walked out among the flowers and enjoyed the sunshine. A man in weathered clothes stepped out from behind the rabbit shaped hedge. His complexion was ruddy and his hair unkempt. He set down his spade and wiped the dirt off his hands.
"Follow Janst," said the High King. "Report every move he makes. I cannot afford any mistakes."
"I won't make any," said Chraset. His face had been handsome but the scars were many and the one from the top of his right eye to his mouth pinched his face into a scowl.
"Your reward will be great."
Chraset bowed and disappeared behind the hedge.
"Where do these spies come from?" asked Michak. "What creates them? Are they bred for it?"
He walked a little further and then headed back to the throne room. It was time to meet with Prosty and Kaell to hear the results of the raid on the rebel camp. Besides, he had walked too far and was winded.
When he got inside Ransal waited for him. Ransal was still slender, and at eighteen, he did not show the weight he would carry later in life and did not believe that he would. His father smiled at his vanity and frowned at his ambition.
"Well?" asked the High King. "What is it now?"
"Why do you keep those wizards here? They are trying to steal the throne for themselves. Kill them or banish them. Act like a true High King." Ransal's eyes did not meet his father's.
"What would you know about such things, other than the High King's power which you so obviously crave?" He sat on the throne and looked at his youngest son.
"I would not allow outsiders to share that power."
"What would give you the idea that I share my throne? I alone command the soldiers. I alone raise taxes. I alone decide the fate of the land. What shall I do with you?"
"I am your son! Do not threaten me!" he snapped. He was furious.
"What little teeth you may have cannot harm me, Ransal. I suggest you be patient. When I think you are ready, I shall include you in the governing of Nantitet, and later the entire land. But you are not ready yet."
"When will I be?" He looked directly at his father, his jaw set tight.
"That is up to you. I do not see the self-discipline required in you yet. The first thing you must learn is to hide your feelings. Everyone can tell what you think because your reactions are so clear."
"That's another excuse!" The boy was near tears, suddenly. He could not stop shaking. "You never wanted me for a son! Never ! You only cared about Mantan! Now he's gone and only I am left and you reject me!"
"That is incorrect. I move more slowly with you because I am afraid to lose you, too."
"Fear is failing. You should not be High King. An High King shows no fear."
"Correct. He doesn't show it but he feels it. It is a fool who doesn't feel fear. I control it and use it to my advantage. Mantan, I pushed too fast. He was not ready to enter politics and made dangerous enemies. That is why he died."
"I thought he fell from a horse."
"His saddle straps had been cut and the saddle slipped as the horse jumped. Your brother was assassinated."
"Murdered?"
"And that is what I try to protect you from."
"Who killed him?"
"We never found out. The killer may still be among the court. I cannot risk you." He watched the emotions flicker on his son's face. The boy noticed his father watching with keen interest and quickly masked his expression.
"That is good. Practice that control. When you think you have mastered it, we shall continue this discussion. Remember never let your feelings show in public. It is the only protection an High King has. Trust no one and you will live to see old age.
"Come to the throne room tomorrow morning. We will begin your education then. Watch and listen and you will learn much. You may go."
Ransal bowed and left his mind full of ideas and theories about the proper way to run an empire.
"I wonder if that did any good," Michak said to himself. "He's too much like his mother, full of fire and life. Pity."
He found that he had no time for the bath he craved and settled in for the next bout with the wizards. He cleaned his fingers as Prosty entered. Kaell did not appear.
"Well? Where is your associate?"
"He said he was going to speak with Horeth."
"Has Horeth returned?"
"No. The Calendian army is still several miles south of Rhath. They did not find Gareth. Many of his captains escaped also."
"So, he must have been warned. What is Horeth's reaction to that?"
"Kaell will find out. That is why he is going to Horeth. We also want to find out what they may have found while scouring the hills looking for Gareth."
"What success did the raid produce?" he asked sourly.
"At least ninety percent of the rebel force was destroyed. From the size of the camp there cannot be more than two dozen survivors."
"But the best of the lot remain. Gareth will do some damage yet." At his signal servant brought in trays of food. Prosty glanced at his own growing waistline and sighed.
"What do you think we should do about Gareth now?" asked Michak. "I am not convinced of the infallibility of wizards. Perhaps I should assign one of my military men to assist you. Mulane, for instance."
"I don't think he could help," said Prosty.
"Why not?"
Prosty paused before he answered even though his mind was made up.
"He's been in the dungeon these past months."
"What? On whose command?" The High King's face was relaxed, except for the smoldering eyes. It was the potion. The potion. So much has happened that I don't know about. He tried to remain calm.
"Kaell's."
The High King looked at the wizard and crunched his almonds loudly.
"And you agreed with him?"
"No."
"But you didn't disagree?"
"That is closer to what happened."
"I'm glad you pointed out the difference. Bring Mulane here. Go! I will wait. It is time for a reckoning."
The High King sat back and ate more almonds.
"What won't they do in my name," he wondered. "Who else resides in my dungeon cursing me for their imprisonment? Now I wonder if Parean did indeed kill Daura. I will need more help than Mulane, if he is strong enough to be of help at all."
He went to his chambers and opened an oak chest near his bed. He removed various books and boxes and near the bottom, he found a scabbard with a jeweled handled sword. He tried to fasten the belt around his waist but it wouldn't fit, it was four inches shy of encircling him. He sighed and walked back to the throne room and hung the belt over the arm of the throne. At least the message it conveyed would not be misunderstood. At length the door opened and Prosty led in an underfed and dirty Mulane. His mustache that he had been so vain about was wild and long and he had a good start on a beard whose white hairs shocked the High King. He had no idea that Mulane was getting so old.
"Well, my friend. You are free at last."
"No thanks to you." He looked from side to side but could not see Kaell. He had not expected to be released from his cell.
