Black Kerthon's Doom (11 page)

Out in the corridor he lit his pipe. At least he had the decency to enjoy his vice where it would not bother anyone. He let his mind drift back to the time before he met Kaell, before they became part of High King Michak's court. Prosty had been handsome then, in a gangling sort of way. Perhaps his hands and feet had been too large, his face too angular but his blue eyes were striking, and it had been said that the sky could not have been any truer blue.

But that had been before the magic, before the sorcery, before the rumor of Kerthon. He had to remind himself that the ancient sorcerer was why he was in Nantitet. It was too easy to fall into the visions of Kaell and his earth-bound aspirations. No, it was Kerthon that drew him across the mountains and into political intrigue. He had planned to sneak away and go to the tower but the High King would have none of it. He commanded the two wizards to advise him and otherwise use their powers to create the perfect empire, free from sickness, poverty, and even death. Then Kaell had a better idea. Power for themselves. But Prosty had to be in control. He did not trust the younger wizard enough to let Kaell call the shots and after all, Prosty did have the superior wizardry.

Perhaps soon he could leave Nantitet. No one would miss him, least of all Kaell.

"Woolgathering, I presume?" said Kaell, who had stuck his head out the door. "In any case I have finished eating and now we can return to our discussion."

"Your dissertation you mean. I was merely listening."

"Your idea of flattery is not amusing, nor is it effective."

"No, not when you can do it so much better."

"What is eating at you?" asked Kaell.

"This entire thing. You know what I want to do."

"Ha! Your simple quest for the sorcerer's origins will unearth unlimited power for yourself. Do not try to confuse me, Prosty. You haven't the skill."

"Must you turn everything into a metaphor for power?"

"That's all there is. But go! Seek your destiny. I will not have to worry about your fitness as High King. But where shall I find another who is as suitable?"

"Look in the mirror, as you often do, I think you will find a fool big enough to attempt your plots."

"You mock me, and yet you take the lead in all that we do. I cannot reconcile your two natures."

"Perhaps they can't be reconciled."

"Then you are a wizard who is no longer in command of his abilities. A wizard follows one true course in all he does. He does not ebb and flow like the tide."

"Thank you for the lesson. I shall try to be a better wizard. At least I can be."

Kaell's face was red and he began a spell that sent flickers of flame along the floor around Prosty who danced out of the way of the painful fire. The flames danced up the walls and jumped onto Prosty and he struck at them with his hands. Kaell laughed and increased the flames.

There was some commotion down the hall and a handful of guards appeared with some nobles. The flames disappeared and the wizards stood side by side, smiled, and bowed to the nobles.

"I will kill you," whispered Kaell.

"Do not mettle with me, Kaell," said Prosty, after the hall was clear. "You haven't the power." He went back into his room and slammed the door. Servants peered around a bend in the corridor and saw the angry Kaell. They fled from his gaze and he returned to the dungeon.

"Not again," moaned Parean. "I can't take anymore."

"Tell me what I want to know," said Kaell.

Parean's chest was bare and dozens of red lines covered his body. The blood on his face had dried except for a slight trickle out of his left ear. He was slumped in a corner his hands and ankles manacled with rusty irons.

"I don't know anything."

"Oh, I think you do. You told me the approximate location of the rebel camp. You could tell me the exact locations of the sentry posts, am I right?"

"No, Gareth moves them around. Several places. I haven't been out there in months."

"Do you remember where they are?"

"Yes. No, I won't tell you."

There was a sudden scream from Parean as Kaell bent over him that made Janst cringe in his hiding place outside the cell. Parean sobbed and Janst could hear the soft words as they trickled out of the poor man's mouth.

Suddenly, the door to the cell opened and Kaell stepped out and nearly ran into Janst. Their eyes met. Neither man spoke. Janst tried to look past Kaell into the cell.

"What are you doing here?" asked Kaell. His eyes darted around the room making sure they were alone.

"Spying for the High King."

"Really? What luck, eh?"

"I'm also supposed to create a rift between you and Prosty."

Kaell snorted. "Tell the High King you have accomplished your task. There is a rift between us."

"How nice. A job finished on its first day. May I buy you a drink?"

"You are too happy with your work," said Kaell, sourly. "I distrust a man who enjoys doing his work more than skipping it."

"It's all in the mind."

"Precisely. Well, let's get that drink. I must be abed soon. I have a busy day tomorrow. The High King shall send soldiers after the rebels."

"Splendid," said Janst. "Perhaps then I could finish that job you hired me for."

"That is what I hoped." He wiped blood on the wall as they passed.

Macelan and Serada had begun to feel comfortable in the rebel camp. There was no longer someone watching them at all times and they had been assigned daily tasks, which kept them busy. Serada had resigned himself to his position. Macelan had not but his interest in Daura drove any thoughts of escape far from his mind. They completed their work willingly and well, slowly earning the trust of their fellows. The daily closeness of the rebels and the reality of death brought a dimension to friendships that neither man thought possible. The food tasted better, the air smelled sweeter and the smiles and greetings of the other rebels were more sincere and warming. It was a good time to be alive. The camp was busy but very quiet despite the smiling faces. At first Serada wondered why they were so content, far from home, outlaws sentenced to death, and then he was so busy he had no time for such contemplation. There was a familiarity of the morning rituals at the camp and the young men fell in step with the rebels, blending their motions into the dance of the camp. The freshness of the forest, the voices of the birds almost made up for the loss of the sea songs of the surf.

Macelan was washing his face in the bucket outside his tent when Brice approached.

"Hurry. We must leave at once."

"Leave? Where to? I wanted to sit under a tree and sleep."

Brice shook his head, sighing.

"Scout mission. No napping allowed. Come, time is wasting." Brice grabbed his shoulder, jerking Macelan to his feet. Macelan stumbled, holding the sleeve of Brice shirt for support. He sat down to tighten the straps of his boots.

"How come we have to leave immediately?" asked Macelan.

"Gareth's orders." There could be no argument. "Come on."

"What if.."

Brice grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him to his feet.

"Okay, okay." Macelan picked up his sword, bow and quiver and followed Brice to the edge of camp. Daura was waiting for them.

"Coming, my dear?" asked Macelan. He held his hand out to her and after a moment's thought, she laid hers in his.

"Yes," said Daura. Brice looked at them both but said nothing.

They headed east for several miles before they turned south. They kept to the trees and it made their going slow but it shielded them from unfriendly eyes. The grass and branches were still damp from the night rainfall. Brice led them and walked briskly were he could. He didn't speak. He remembered Cara and listened while Daura and Macelan softly conversed and deepened their friendship. Brice's ache did not lessen. Their first spring together at the waterfall Cara had found came often to his mind.

"Where did you grow up?" asked Macelan. "What did you do?"

"I was born in Nantitet," said Daura. "And I've lived there all my life. Our family was a large landowner and Father was a nobleman but he had no aspirations for the throne himself. But it was our heritage that Gareth drew on for claim to the throne. The High King is a blood relative."

"That's what I heard. My grandmother is related to him too."

"Gareth told me. The royal blood skipped you apparently." She giggled at his expression.

"Very funny. Can you really trace your family back to Kerthon? Am I really related to him too?"

"Yes. Very, very distant relation, but it is there. Michak's family separated from ours about three generations ago. However, our family traces back father-to-father to Kerthon. It is a very important distinction for Gareth's claim to the throne. Closer ties to the kingship bring legitimacy to Gareth, but he doesn't embrace it and will not say Kerthon's name often. But don't speak of it to Gareth. He tries to push Kerthon from his mind. The legacy of Kerthon preys upon his mind and he blames our father's death on Kerthon. I have tried to talk with him, but he looks at me as if I am a stranger. Do not speak of Kerthon to him or he will get very angry and I don't want him to be angry with you. You are different."

"Serada says I don't take things seriously enough."

"Perhaps. But I think that's more your outward self than your inner self. I sense it."

"What do you sense?" He smiled, leaning toward Daura. She rolled her eyes, pushing him away.

"You're a tease. I think you hold up this fool facade to protect yourself in relationships. You are not as confident as you appear."

He laughed. "I had no idea you were so brilliant. Tell me more about myself, oh great seer." Daura stuck her tongue out.

"Keep it down," snapped Brice. "We have business to attend."

Macelan and Daura smiled at each other, oblivious to Brice's pain. He knew that was part of their state of mind. He didn't want to interfere, despite Gareth's misgivings about Macelan. Daura seemed fond of Macelan. Who was he to interfere? Brice knew how precious each moment could be, remembering the short time he had with Cara. Each day they were together Brice felt his chest tighten, his breath grow short. Every day was beautiful. Nothing mattered but Cara. Cara. Cara.

However, Macelan and Daura's inattention could be dangerous. The danger was near and very real and would come upon them too fast. He would have to be very cautious and alert. They would venture as close as they could to the soldiers, spy out their camps, and try to determine what plans have been made for the Calendian army. Brice had to anticipate the movement of General Horeth. Horeth had grown up with Gareth, inseparable cousins, at home in the forests around Nantitet. He was a formidable opponent, nearly Gareth's equal in woodcraft with rare insight in Gareth's mind. Horeth anticipated many of the rebel's attacks and strategies. Many, but not all. Gareth recognized the danger from Horeth, making many decisions against his usual routines that succeeded greatly. There was now doubt in Horeth's mind. Doubt, but no lack of confidence.

Brice did not appreciate his position. On one hand, he was to locate the Calendian army and on the other, he was to test Macelan in his scouting ability. It would prove difficult, he was positive, with Macelan being of little worth, but the rebels needed each person to pull their own weight. They were short of scouts. Each additional scout could save countless lives. He watched them whisper to each other, acting as if they were on a picnic. What was wrong with Daura? She never acted so frivolously before.

The next morning they left the thick woods and started down to the lowlands and an area with few places of concealment. The grass was brown and sparse scattered among the small clumps of gnarled greenish shrubs. There was no way to quickly cross the open spaces. If anyone looked, they would be seen without a doubt.

"This is where we must be careful," said Brice.

"I am always careful," said Macelan. "Just not discreet."

"Don't say such things," said Daura, swatting him on the shoulder.

"Keep to the job at hand," said Brice.

"First job I can remember. We didn't work for many months.."

Brice grabbed Macelan by the neck and shook him. For a moment, Brice couldn't find his voice, his face blotchy.

"Listen to me. I don't want you to cost me my life or Daura's. Maybe you don't care, but my Cara gave her life to allow Daura to escape. No one is going to harm Daura and have Cara's sacrifice wasted." He glared at Macelan who couldn't meet his gaze. Daura reached for his hand and he pulled her close.

"I'm sorry, Brice," Macelan said, finally. "I forget that the world doesn't revolve around me. I will try to become more considerate."

"That's good," whispered Daura. "I would appreciate it too."

Brice did not respond. He was scanning the horizon for signs of the Calendian army. He was puzzled.

"There's a camp a couple miles away. Doesn't seem to be too big, but there is no movement. They don't usually leave the camps abandoned."

"Maybe they quit the camp," said Daura.

"No, there is a fire smoldering. They are near. We must be especially careful."

He led them around to the west of the camp and they moved closer. They stopped in a cluster of tree at the top of a bluff and they lay down in the dirt.

Brice kept them there for an hour.

"I don't see anything," said Macelan. "Where would they have gone if not back to Nantitet with the High King?"

"Our scouts did not see any sign of Horeth heading south."

"General Horeth? Gareth's cousin?"

"Mine, too," said Daura. Macelan winked at her and kept his gaze on Brice who nodded.

"He has a troop of fifty soldiers under his personal command outside of the regular Calendian army forces. I would say at least his personal army is with him. Hard to tell how many could use that camp. He's a hard man. Beware of him, Macelan. If you come upon him, kill him at once if possible. Do not fight him face to face; he's a dangerous, dangerous fighter."

"There's movement," whispered Daura. "Across the meadow near those rocks."