Black Kerthon's Doom, page 2
"Why would the wizard do that?" He was thinking furiously. Did they not follow his commands? He still made decisions didn't he? How can this be turned to his advantage? What damage has already been done? Can he reverse it?
"I do not know. I only know that I saw him do it once and heard Kaell and Prosty mention it one other time."
"Those wizards. I don't know why I thought I needed their service."
"Perhaps they enchanted you," said Daura. She was fascinated by the High King's attempts to clear his mind. He was obvious angry with himself for the questions he was asking but he could not yet control himself. It was good that their meeting was not public.
"No. It was my own folly. I have no magic of my own and I wanted the prestige of wizards in my court as our forefathers enjoyed. Now, what can I do? I am not ready to call them out. They would be too powerful for me alone. I wonder." He reached for a sweetmeat.
They sat in the High King's chamber at Lord Isnal's home in Rhath. The High King had been weary from his trip and Prosty had left a tonic for him as usual. The High King had become quite fond of them. He wasn't particularly thrilled with Daura's news because it was two edged. Despite the fact that Daura had always supported him, she was Gareth's sister. The High King had always overlooked that relationship, but the two had been very close when they were young, causing the High King to doubt the story Daura had told. On the other hand, the wizards were not entirely trustworthy. Was there no one he could trust?
"How can I trust you?"
"I do not understand," said Daura. "I have nothing to gain."
"But Gareth does. I do not believe you are unsympathetic to your brother's goals despite the good help you have been at court. The wizards trouble both me and you, but the reasons are different I think. I thank you for helping me see what they are up to, but I feel I should be keeping a closer watch on you as well. Gareth has something to gain in this, and I will find the answer."
"As you wish."
"Indeed."
"What will you do about the wizards?"
"I will figure something out," said the High King. "First, I must let them think I am still under their spell. What to do with this vile potion?"
"Just wait until Prosty is gone and then throw it out. He'll never know."
"That's right. He usually leaves it for me and goes on his way. That's just what I'll do." He pondered how to execute them without damaging what has been accomplished with their help? He dismissed Daura with a wave of his hand, the other holding the side of his head.
Daura took her leave of the High King intending to return to her quarters. On the way through the dim corridor, she met Kaell. She had no opportunity to avoid him, smiling as she had been trained to do, ever a lady of the court. Her practiced smile always bothered Gareth. She and Kaell were alone in the narrow corridor. Not a servant was present. It appeared to Daura that it was not coincidence.
"Where have you been?" asked Kaell, looking behind her. He moved to block her path.
"With the High King, if you must know." She tried to walk by but he continued to block her way. His pale face drew close and she could smell the grease in his goatee.
"Move, Kaell. You have no business with me." Her hand held a dagger, its point an inch from Kaell's abdomen.
He looked at her and snarled. His countenance was pinched to begin with and his expressions of anger created an image of a ferret, a term used by the peasants to Kaell's everlasting outrage.
"Soon I shall find out your secrets. I will bring you down from your pedestal. I will. You will bow to me."
"You are a pig, Kaell. Somehow, you learned magic, but I bet it wasn't honestly. I doubt you can learn at all, dumb as you are. Perhaps you are a puppet for Prosty."
Kaell's face turned purple. Daura pressed her dagger into his midsection. Kaell coughed turning away and she moved quickly.
Daura pushed by him and walked away without another word. She heard Kaell muttering to himself, almost arguing with someone although he was now alone and wondered how long she could keep out of his clutches. He was slowly turning Nantitet into his personal playground, bribing several on the High King's staff to support him. Kaell was careful to include his supporters on this trip to Rhath; his insecurity a badge that everyone except himself could see. The High King suspected Daura loyalty to Gareth overrode her loyality to the High King but he had no proof. She had to be careful, one slip and the watchful Kaell would expose her to the High King and she would be thrown into the dungeon. It had been rumored that Kaell had begun an active involvement in the care of prisoners and even used torture. Of course, it was not acknowledged in the court, but outside the direct influence of the Lords, the rumors persisted. And Kaell had done nothing to refute them. He appeared to appreciate the image he was gaining. Or maybe he not only appreciated it, perhaps he promoted it, and that thought depressed Daura. She would have to discover the truth to those rumors. It was not a pleasant thought, but the information could be useful.
Daura returned to her room, unsure of her next step, other than the scheduled meeting with Gareth's messenger. She would take Parean with her for added protection. It would look like a romantic walk in the woods in case anyone saw them. She did like him. Not too strongly but it did get lonely in her isolated position. And Parean was very considerate in her company.
Prosty sat on a box and scanned through the pages of the old books he had found. His tattered brown cloak pulled tight around him. Kaell had tried often to talk him into wearing finer clothes but he laughed the younger wizard off.
"What would I do with fine clothes? Clothes are nothing, no reflection of the man they cover. You should look within yourself; I don't think your understanding of people is keen."
Kaell cursed as always when words escaped him. Prosty shook his head, wondering why he joined up with Kaell. The young wizard was hotheaded and not very sharp in many respects. However, Prosty's ordeal would be over soon. Very soon.
The leather-bound manuscripts crackled as each page was turned and he cringed at each sound. Occasionally, he would rub his hand over his bald head to wipe the sweat away. It all led to this; his search for Kerthon's magic. Let Kaell play his power games with the High King. Prosty would keep himself above it and continue his quest, the quest that brought him to Nantitet. An intellect like his cannot long endure the petty intrigues of government. Power, power such as Kerthon wielded that was destined to be Prosty's power, not political power
Prosty's quest had now run seven years and he accumulated much knowledge during that time. Certainly, his skill was far superior to Kaell's. He oversaw their political maneuverings, but he had little patience for them. He wanted to learn about magic and Kerthon's in particular. A king, a man, became the greatest sorcerer in the history of the world within a few short years. Somewhere laid the source of Kerthon's power and he would find it.
The slender wizard deftly turned the pages with his bony hands. The few spells he uncovered were not of merit. Old wives' remedies mostly, and he knew almost all of them. The others were really only variations on earlier spells and nothing, nothing to waste his time on. He was in an older wing of Isnal's home and had received permission to look for old manuscripts that might reveal some of the history of the west. At least that was the story he used. He was searching for books of magic. Kerthon's books of magic. There is a source for all magic and Prosty knew even Kerthon had learned it from somewhere. It was said that Kerthon's vast library had been stolen from the tower before it was burned and the library's current location was unknown. Prosty wanted to reach Castle Moorld one day and search every room. Moorld too, was in ruins, cursed by Kerthon even as he fled. The dust would be thick in those corridors, thought Prosty.
Kaell found him in this room, his head buried in a book heedless of all else. Kaell watched him with a sneer on his lips, wishing he had the courage to sink a knife in the exposed back of his partner. He looked around the room and found nothing to interest him. He spat on the floor. Prosty did not turn around.
"Ah, Kaell, by the sound. Welcome to my little hideaway. There is quite a lot of information for a patient researcher. Pick up a book and browse through history."
"I do not think so. Your hobby is distracting you from our goal. I am not sure your potions are keeping the High King under our influence. He seems to have a lot to say. Especially to Daura."
"There is no problem. You need something to settle your nerves. Shall I prepare something for you?"
"Your humor is mislaid, Prosty. I saw Daura come from the High King's quarters. She was very uncooperative. I think she is plotting with the High King. I tried to get her to tell me what she was doing and she pushed me aside."
"Are you surprised? You constantly harass her and there isn't anything about you that is particularly attractive."
Kaell was speechless for a moment. "I will not stand for your insults! You treat me like an inferior. I come up with the plans and you take them over as if they were yours. You start the plans rolling and then you disappear and I find you reading books. I do not understand."
"That is obvious," said Prosty. He put down his book and stood up. "You have no grasp of subtlety. You could not complete the tasks you design. They must be allowed to gather their own speed. Patience. Without me you are nothing."
"I warn you, Prosty. One day you will go too far. And I will kill you."
"Your power is pitiful. Now leave me before I expose you as the fraud you are."
Kaell's face stretched into a grimace and he was shaking with rage. His knuckles were white and he opened his mouth but no sound came out. He turned and fled.
Prosty looked out at the moon and smiled.
The moonlight glowed through the branches overhead creating a surreal atmosphere where everything seemed to move slowly without sound. The rebels had relaxed. It had been an hour since their last encounter with the soldiers and they had hidden their trail well. Gareth did not want to return directly to their main camp in case they were followed. They wound their trail through ravines, rocky slopes and through deep thickets, narrowing their direction towards their main camp.
"I have trained our trail men," said Mira. "They are the best."
"I do not argue the point. The fact is, we have been in battle and have made a three-hour forced march home. Fatigue hits even the best soldier and details are missed. We will stop and camp. We must take no chances with the main camp."
Mira grumbled but she nodded and gave the commands. Quickly the rebels went to action, pulling out tents, setting out food, gathering wood, and setting sentries around the shady dell.
Gareth watched his people set up camp. There were farmers working alongside nobles, highwaymen, rich and poor. It was staggering in some ways to realize how many diverse people put their future, their very lives in his hands. Quickly, all the tents were set up, following the procedures set out by Mira; the camp was ready in minutes.
The night deepened, clothing them in silence as sleep overtook the rebels. Despite their discipline, it was difficult for the sentries to be at their best. Gareth watched the stars through the branches overhead, small twinkles of light, elusive as his quest. His eyelids grew heavy, his mouth slack.
It was nearly midnight when the first shout was given and Gareth rolled to his feet. On three sides of their camp soldiers had attacked. They had come without warning and had silenced the watch. Many rebels died in the first attack.
The soldiers drove the rebels back with their pikes and swords. The rebels who could reach their weapons barely held their own while the rest were cut down. Some rebels set up positions just under the cover of the trees and fired a rain of arrows into the soldiers who fell back to safety. Several pockets of battles flowed among the trees, while in other places soldiers killed rebels with little resistance.
Brice's axe splattered his opponents as he led a charge into the right flank of the Calendian army. He forced them back and they broke and fled as Mira directed more arrows at them. The rebels fell back to the thick cover of the trees where they had the advantage. The Calendian army had not surrounded them, making that one mistake that always allowed the rebels to escape.
One large Calendian soldier fought through the line of rebels and saw Gareth standing, sword in hand, waiting. The Calendian soldier smiled and rushed forward. Gareth raised his sword and the two met in a stunning collision that knocked them both off their feet.
Gareth was on his feet first and sliced through the soldier's shoulder. The man only grunted. He slapped at Gareth's legs and the rebel leader lost his footing as he tried to dance away. He barely ducked the sweeping blow of the sword and the flat edge rang against his skull. Gareth was dazed. The Calendian soldier prepared for a final thrust.
A white-hot fire burst inside Gareth's head, he saw himself rise and take hold of the Calendian soldier's sword with his bare hand, and power filled him and ran down the blade to the terrified soldier who screamed silently as his soul began to burn. Gareth let go instantly, but it was too late.
His vision cleared and the sight of the soldier, still steaming on the ground staggered him. Gareth vomited and leaned on a tree for support. No! He screamed to himself. NO! I will not succumb. I cannot! He ran from the field of battle and his tears were swept off his face as he ran. The glowing figure caught the attention of the fighters briefly, and then Brice urged the rebels on to greater effort.
Gareth stopped and tried to calm himself but the vision of his damned father filled his eyes. It can't happen again! He sat on the ground and tried to concentrate on his breathing. I will not give in to it! I won't! I will not become like Kerthon. He sobbed in his hands as the swords rang behind him.
Later, he ran back to the campsite as the battle was winding down. There was still a small group of rebels resisting the soldiers. Mira saw him wave.
"To the trees!" shouted Gareth. He fitted his bow and fired at the soldiers, but there was no time to draw another arrow. He had drawn the attention of soldiers and several ran in his direction. He ran dodging the trees and ducking under branches. Mira's voice sounded above the battle and he knew she was saving some lives. He heard Brice, too. But no one had followed Gareth. He slowed. Perhaps he should double back.
A battle horn pierced the darkness. Gareth's blood began to boil. Horeth himself led this night attack. It was Horeth's attack that caused the curse of Kerthon to rise in Gareth again. This was another evil Horeth would answer for. Gareth would not rest until his vengeance was complete. Why was only Gareth, of all of them, Daura, Horeth and the High King, the only one affected by Kerthon's curse, Kerthon's blood? Why did the talent for sorcery skip the other descendants?
He started to turn back when he met Brice.
"They have fallen back," said Brice. "We reached the trees too quickly and set up archers. They dropped like flies. I guess it was enough. Horeth led them."
"I know. I heard his horn."
"Shall we backtrack them?"
"No. Let it be for now. We do not have the manpower now. We must return to camp and regroup. We lost far too many soldiers for so little accomplished." His tone was bitter.
Brice nodded. "Mira is leading a group to the north and I will take more south. No direct route back."
"Good. I will follow you but don't wait. I will go at my pace. There is much I must think over."
"Yes, Gareth." He watched his leader for a moment, and then sighed.
Brice moved off leaving Gareth to fight the demons in his head alone.
Kerthon. The name screamed within Gareth's brain. The Sorcerer King of Moorld whose magic defied the land and all he touched, including his descendants. Now the last of those, Gareth, felt the tug of power, the irresistible draw of magic. Magic, to use for rebuilding the land. Magic, to right the wrongs in the world. He told himself often that he could use the power and not be tainted. Each time he tried to convince himself that he was strong enough, voices in his head laughed ever so softly at his folly. The sorcery had so much potential.
But it would decay within him and turn him black like Kerthon before him, if he were strong enough. If he were weak, he would perish. Gareth knew the power dwelt within him. The Calendian soldier's death was just the latest evidence. He vowed again, not to follow the dark path to Kerthon's fate. The power was becoming easier to use although his body ached afterward and the intensity grew each time he used it. The greater power brought greater pain.
He looked up at the moon, now low in the sky. It mocks me, he thought. It knows what I think and sees my weakness.
The wind increased and fell voices shouted his name in the darkness and Gareth ran. He ran and ran trying to escape the accusation in the wind. The night had no mercy and a weary Gareth stumbled into the rebel camp and fell into a heavy slumber from which he could not be awakened for half a day.
Chapter 2
The seaport of Dale had been built at the mouth of the Bruen River. Over the years Dale had stretched down the shoreline of the great sea until it spanned a mile of the shore, and reached back a half-mile inland. The crowded houses were weathered by the sun and wind, much like the people who lived in them. From sunup to sundown, they worked the sea. Apart from merchants, there was no place for people who did not work the sea, and idlers were outcast. The people of Dale depended on the sea and the great fleet left the harbor each week and returned at week's end with their holds full of fish.
Down the southern beach, a rambling cottage stood apart, closed in by wind battered trees. Flower baskets still hung around the porch, the flowers long dead. Each morning when Macelan awoke, he would look upon the endless sea, the fresh salt air would draw him to the beach, and he would sit and watch the waves roll over the sand to the rocky sentinels and the silent voice of the sea would be a roar in his ears. He sat on a large worm eaten log that the waves had deposited on the rocky shore and kicked at the sand fleas jumping near his feet. He looked out over the water to where the horizon met the sky and he daydreamed about sailing over the edge of the world.
