Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) (20 page)

“Gant, Zandinar,” said Sylvia, touching each on the shoulder as she introduced them, “this is Rolaf.  He will take you to the Imperial Palace and see that you talk to the right people.”

“Just exactly what reason do we have to gain a hearing with the emperor?” asked Gant, not sure what he was supposed to do.

“It doesn’t matter,” answered Sylvia.  “Every afternoon, except Holy Days, the emperor receives complaints and petitions from the populace, at least in theory.  Actually, he only hears those with enough gold to pay off the court secretaries and sub-ministers in charge of arranging his schedule.  With a few coins in the right palms, you will be at the top of the list.”

Gant patted the plump purse at his belt, and nodded, “We brought gold.”

“Good.  But you better hurry. It won’t be long before the emperor begins today's sessions.”

At that, Rolaf said, “This way,” and led them out the back door, around the corner, up a short alley and into a broad busy street.  People in all manner of dress rushed this way and that. Some had carts loaded with merchandise, others hawked what they carried in their arms, and some seemed to wander without purpose. Men-at-arms moved up and down the streets, some dressed in the red and gold uniform of the Eastern Empire instead of the brown of the city guard.

By the time they got to the Palace, Gant was lost.  They’d turned up so many streets, none of which ran straight for more than a block, that he’d soon forgotten where they’d come from.  They entered the beautiful, grass courtyard of the Royal Palace and ran into a throng of men dressed in the most expensive clothing Gant had ever seen. 

Rolaf swerved around the noisy crowd and slipped behind a large, well-tended flower garden.  They went down a winding maze of color and fragrances eventually arriving at a small metal door set in the weathered stonewall of the palace.  Rolaf knocked three times.

The door opened a crack.  A soldier in full dress uniform peered out, his uniform spotless and pressed so every crease stood out razor sharp.  Each gold button and the gold epaulets flashed in the dim sunlight.

“Rolaf,” grunted the soldier and swung the door open.

“We need to see His Imperial Highness.”  Rolaf pointed to Gant’s coin purse and motioned that a coin should be given to the guard.  Gant did so and they were escorted quickly to a desk in the hallway immediately behind the door.  Here a man in red robes sat reading from a parchment list.  The guard stopped before the table, saluted, and then turned and went back to his post.

The official looked up.  “Rolaf,” he said.  “Who is your ‘client’ today?”

“Gant,” said Rolaf and motioned for Gant’s purse again.

Another gold coin changed hands and they were led a short distance down another hall to another man at another table. The first man nodded and returned the way they had come.

“Mr. Vice-Secretary,” began Rolaf. “Sir Gant needs to meet with his Imperial Highness today. Is that possible?”

The man looked coldly at Rolaf. “His Diviness is very busy today.  Perhaps?”  He waited.

Rolaf held up four fingers and Gant quickly laid four coins on the table.

“Ah, yes.  There is one opening left.  Follow me.”

They went up a flight of stairs, down another hallway into a small room with soldiers at the door.  They were presented to a robust man at a tiny desk.

“Rolaf,” he said glancing up.  “Important business today?”

“Yes, very important, Mr. Under-Secretary.”

“Well, let me see.  I suppose you’d like an appointment near the beginning.”

“Yes.  First if possible.”

“It’ll be very costly for his Majesty.”

Rolaf held up ten fingers and immediately Gant had ten coins on the desk.

“Very good,” said the Under-Secretary and scraped the gold into his pouch.  “Follow me.”

They walked quickly down the hall to another, larger office, again guarded by troops wearing the red and gold uniform of the Eastern Empire.  The Under-Secretary knocked on the door, and then left them.  A guard opened the door from the inside and escorted them into a lavish office.

“Mr. Secretary,” said Rolaf stopping before the massive desk, bowing deferentially.  “These honorable men
must
see his Divine Highness as soon as possible.”  He waved for Gant to put ten gold pieces on the desk.

The white haired secretary looked blankly at the stack of coins.  “Maybe tomorrow,” he said.

Rolaf waved for ten more coins.

“Later today?”

Another ten and the coin purse was nearly empty.

“Ah, yes.  I can see you
are
in a hurry.  I think now will be fine.  Captain!” he called and one of the guards took a step forward.  “Take these men to the Imperial Chamber.  See that they are first to see the emperor.”

They followed the officer until they came to a short line of men waiting in front of a thick red tapestry hung between two ornately carved marble pillars.  The small gathering buzzed with trivial talk of wealth, road conditions, prices and taxes, each man dressed in finery unknown in Netherdorf.

The Captain shoved his way to the front of the pack. There two guards stood preventing entry past the curtain. “These men are next,” said the Captain.  A groan went up from those already waiting. 

The two soldiers nodded. “There is someone before the emperor now,” said one of the guards, “but it won’t take long. He’s made his contribution to the Church.”

A knowing look passed between Rolaf and the guard, and Rolaf, Gant and Zandinar were given space at the head of the haphazard line.  The Captain left. 

“Now, if we get in before someone else pays more,” whispered Rolaf.  Then he added, “Give me your swords.  No weapons are allowed in the emperor’s presence.”

Reluctantly Gant handed Valorius to Rolaf.

Zandinar refused.  “I’ll wait here.”

“Okay, then Gant will have to present your case alone.”

Minutes later, a fat, heavily-jowled merchant was led from the room behind the curtain.  Perspiration covered his shiny forehead, but he smiled and muttered something about the divine wisdom of the emperor.  One of the guards ushered Gant in past the curtain almost as soon as the other man was gone.

A stooped old man dressed in white linen met Gant on the inside of the red curtain.  He led the young warrior to a spot before a huge raised dais where the emperor sat on his throne.  Behind him stood four old men.  Heavily muscled servants waved broadleaf fans and a cluster of guards stood in a semi-circle around the throne.  Several strange blue and orange birds fluttered in polished brass cages hanging near the emperor.

The rest of the room was empty.  No one stood witness to the emperor’s justice.  There were other doorways but they were all curtained off and heavily guarded.

In the dim light Gant examined His Majesty.  A forlorn boy of thirteen or so slouched on the throne, apparently disinterested in the proceedings.  His face was pale from lack of sun and his regal robes hung sloppily from his gangly frame.  A heavy gold crown rested slightly askew atop thick, brown hair that was trimmed bowl-fashion.  The boy emperor barely looked up.

“Sir Gant of Netherdorf, Your Majesty,” announced the frail man who’d escorted Gant into the chamber. With that the guide turned and left.

“I am Gant of Netherdorf, sire,” began Gant.   “I have come to ask the emperor’s help.  Netherdorf has been conquered by the Mountain-Lord Barlon Gorth who now makes war on the Western Kings.  We need military support to stop him.  It is said your army is the finest in the world, which is why I have come to you.”

Gant noticed grave expressions exchanged between the emperor’s ministers, while the young boy perked up and seemed to hang on every word.

Gant continued.  “King Tirmus has been a true friend of the Empire and now hides in exile.  He should be returned to the throne.  Even now, the Western Kings may have fallen.  Once that happens, how long before Barlon Gorth turns on the Empire?”

The emperor sat up straight, suddenly alert, a new sparkle in his eyes.  He started to speak, but one of the ministers hurriedly whispered in his ear.  The boy slumped back.  The ministers huddled.  Gant could barely make out their hushed voices.  Again, one of the ministers spoke to the emperor.

This time the boy gesticulated excitedly but quieted as the ministers crowded around.  Finally, the group separated.

The emperor looked sadly at Gant.  “Request denied,” he said.

Guards hustled Gant back to the red curtain.

“But, your Highness.  Many will die needlessly if you don’t. . .”

“Silence,” roared the foremost minister. “The emperor has spoken.”

Guards led Gant away.  Zandinar and Rolaf waited with expectant faces as Gant was shoved back through the curtain.

“He won’t help,” said Gant. He looked at Rolaf.  “Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“Not unless you want to fight the Imperial Army and all of the City Watch.”

Dejectedly, the three of them returned through the maze of streets to Sylvia’s. The women there tried to cheer Gant, but he wanted no part of it.  Failure was not something he took lightly. There was nothing left to do but wait for Abadis.

Chapter 31

A
badis appeared in Uric’s third floor room in Netherdorf Castle, a place he’d visited many times and knew almost as well as his own home.  He chanted softly the incantations for invisibility and his image disappeared from the mirror on the wall attesting to the spell’s success.  He searched Uric’s room thoroughly for a clue to his friend’s whereabouts.  There were none.

When he was satisfied there was nothing to find, the aged wizard tiptoed down the narrow stone steps to the ground floor.  He slunk through the kitchen past the busy staff and went out the small door at the back.  He made his way around to the front of the castle, noting the stonecutters working on a new front stoop.  Silently he moved out past the black and gold uniformed gate guards and left the castle unnoticed.

He followed the main street down the hill through Netherdorf.  He was careful not to bump into anyone on the streets.  He turned at the first street on the left, walked a half a block, slipped into an alley where he made sure no one was watching and reappeared.  Visible once again, he strode to the next cross street and went into the third shop on the left.

It was a dark hovel, crammed full of jars, bottles, potions, powders, herbs, and exotic chemicals.  Abadis walked purposefully to the back and rapped his knuckles on a rickety old table that doubled as a sales counter.

“Yes,” came a faint, high-pitched voice from behind a stack of goods.

“Stop sleeping and come out here,” demanded Abadis.

A shriveled, old man stepped from behind the piles of merchandise.  His eyes sparkled with life.

“Abadis,” he cackled.  “I thought I had seen the last of you years ago.”

“Ha!  Elan, I keep telling you, you can’t outlive me.  I'm a wizard.  You’re a mere sage and alchemist.  It’s inevitable.”

“We shall see, we shall see.  What do you want anyway?  Nothing is on special and I will not quibble over price.”

“Too bad.  I love to haggle, but today I haven’t got time.”

“Oh my, in too much of a hurry to try to cheat me out of my profit?  You are in a hurry.”

“Do you know Uric, King Tirmus’ sage?”

“Of course.  He bought a thing or two, but I never saw any real talent in that youngster.  I heard he died in the castle.  Lots of people died.  Me, they did not seem to notice.”  Elan winked.

“Hmm,” Abadis thought for a few minutes.  He found it hard to believe that Uric had been killed.  His body would be almost impossible to dispose of unnoticed, and even if Uric was dead Abadis should still be able to locate the body.

“What about a dragon?  Did you see a dragon after the battle?”

“Dragon?  Well sort of.  They hauled a dragon out of town the day after Gorth took over.  Or at least it was a life size statue of one.  I think they took it to Gorth’s castle though I cannot imagine why.”

Abadis looked sternly at Elan.  “Are you making this up?”

“Of course not.  They packed up a big stone slab with a dragon on it and wheeled the whole thing out of town.  There were a bunch of horses straining to keep it moving.”

“And took it to the Mountain Castle?”

“Well now, I do not know that for sure, but that is what I heard.”

“This is going to be harder than I thought.”

“What is?”

“Nothing.  Forget you saw me.”

“Yes, of course, anything you say, but where are you going?”

“Gorth’s castle.  I’ll be back later.  I’ll probably need to pick up a few things.”

With that Abadis left the dingy store and headed back through town, eventually walking west down the road toward the Monolith Mountains.  He walked briskly, his robes flapping behind him in the freshening westerly breeze.  He held a steady pace until a bend in the road and a low rise hid him from the view of other travelers.

Quickly he recited the words of travel and zipped instantly to a wizard’s circle he knew near a familiar fork far up the road.  Here a less-traveled road led up to the Mountain Castle. It had once belonged to the line of Mountain Kings until they tired of their meager kingdoms and tried to conquer lands to the west.  Now it seemed another lord ruled there who wanted to conquer the West.  The trouble was it looked as if he might succeed.

Abadis turned up the gravel road that snaked toward the black stone fortification atop the distant hillside.  The castle glared down at the weary wizard as he wound his way up the dusty switchbacks.  There was something ominous in the dark arrow slits that peered out from rough walls.

The first time Abadis went behind a shoulder of the mountain that blocked the view from the castle, he cast his invisibility spell.  Then, cautious not to make a noise, he worked his way up the steep slope until he confronted the massive iron gates.  They were locked tight, and the guards on the wall gave no indication that they would be opened soon.

I guess I’ll have to fly, he thought, and opened a loose pocket in his robe.  He took out a small metal box no bigger than his thumbnail and removed a delicate pair of fly’s wings.  He recited the few words to the spell, gripped the wings gently and made the correct gestures, and Abadis lifted smoothly off the ground. He flew over the towering wall, landing gently in the inner courtyard.

“Perfect,” he muttered, and walked to the inner keep’s door, which stood open, and slipped inside.

After several false turns Abadis located the stairs that led down to the dungeons.  As he started down the worn stone steps where the light was dimmest, he stopped and recast his invisibility spell to be sure it wouldn’t fade at the wrong time.

At the bottom of the stairs, Abadis paused.  Several sets of iron doors blocked the way.  The old wizard peered through the small, barred windows into the hallways beyond.  Which way should he go?  The first two halls were totally dark and didn’t look promising.

The third was sparsely lit by smoky torches in iron braziers. Abadis noticed a collection of instruments of torture in the central room just beyond the doors.  Off the main room were a couple of holding cells.

Cautiously he slid the door open, glancing around to be sure there were no guards around.  Inside he closed the door and stepped out into a large chamber.  Not only were there machines of torture, but also a large blackened stone table, sputtered with the remains of the goldsmith’s art.  Finally, his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he saw that the back of the room had been tunneled out to form a massive cave-like chamber. 

There, trapped in a sphere of timelessness, was Uric.  His huge, lifeless eyes skinned over by the magic that held him.

Abadis approached carefully, wary of magic traps.  Finding none, he tiptoed to the outer edge of the translucent sphere surrounding his friend. He studied it, first visually, then with a series of magical probes. Soft green light flashed each time a spell touched the sphere.  Nothing penetrated the bubble surrounding the dragon.

“Hmm, yes,” said Abadis finally. “We’ll have to get you out of there, old friend.”

The gray wizard threw open his robe and searched through the multiple pockets and pouches inside.  Within a few minutes he found what he needed but before he could begin the spell that would neutralize Razgoth’s trap, something hit him from behind and knocked him down.  His head slammed into the cold stone floor and darkness overwhelmed him.

It took only a few seconds, but when he regained consciousness, Abadis stared into the face of a huge, black mastiff that held him pinned under massive paws.  The dog’s fangs gleamed only inches from the wizard’s face.  A second dog circled behind the first, thick saliva dripping from its curled lips.  In the doorway behind them both stood an ugly brute of a man wearing a studded leather breastplate.  He brandished a short sword in his right hand.

“Good boys,” rasped the guard. “Whoever you are, don’t move or the dogs’ll tear yer heart out.”

Abadis lay motionless, partially stunned by the fall. His head swam in a fog and it was hard to think clearly.

The guard advanced, sword ready.

“Some kinda wizard, are ya?”

He pushed the dogs back and grabbed Abadis by the collar. With a twist and spin he yanked the old man to his feet.

“Take off your clothes,” said the guard, pressing the sword tip to Abadis’ throat.

The dogs inched closer.  Abadis tried to think.  He had no choice.  He took off his clothes, his ancient body thin and wrinkled beneath.

The guard laughed.  “Ain’t much to ya, is there?”

The guard tossed the clothes into the corner.  And then he grabbed Abadis by the shoulder and shoved him naked into a cold, damp cell next to Uric.  The door clanged shut with the ominous ring of cold iron.

“Here you’ll stay, ‘til Lord Gorth returns.  He’ll know what to do with ya.”

The guard left.  Abadis shivered.  The straw on the floor was covered with fungus.  The bed was bare, made of half-rotten planks.  He tried to remember where he was, why he’d come here, but his mind was blank.