Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) (5 page)

Barlon entered the isolated tower chamber, twisted the ring until he was visible again and approached the trembling captive.

“Have you finished?” asked Barlon, a false sweetness in his voice.

The man shrank away from Barlon cradling a gold medallion in his soft, chubby hands.

“You will let us go once it's done?”

“Master Figgins, I've given my word.  Once you provide me with the charm no more harm will come to you or your good wife.  It is unfortunate that I had to demonstrate on her the consequences of disobeying my wishes.  She waits for you now.”

Figgins stared up at Barlon shaking with fear.  Hesitantly, Figgins' trembling hand held out a blazing trinket.  Barlon took it by the chain, inspected it, careful not to touch the medallion itself.

“You are sure it will bind Sir Jarlz' loyalties to me?”

“Of course.  I'm a man of my word.  Please don't handle it any more than necessary.  Each touch uses a little of the magic.  The amulet must examine the handler's identity, searching for the one who will trigger it.  In this case, only Sir Jarlz will activate the charm.  Still, it takes a bit of the power each time someone handles it.”

Barlon twirled the round metal coin on its chain.  A strange inscription glittered there and as Barlon swung the medallion, magical reflections twinkled across the stone walls seeking someone not present.

“Please, now can I rejoin my wife?  You promised our freedom.”

“And you shall have it.”

Barlon Gorth yanked his sword from its scabbard beneath his fur robe.  In one clean slice he severed the bald head from its pudgy body.  A torrent of blood surged from the neck and the wizard fell with a thud.

“You have joined her as promised and I'm sure no more harm will befall either of you.  Your weakness is intolerable,” said Barlon.  Without looking back he turned and left by the single door.  There was a lot yet undone and time was running short.  Now he had the medallion to give to his spy, Shalmuthe, who would see that it was presented as a gift to Sir Jarlz.  Once around the knight's neck, it would guarantee Sir Jarlz' aid against King Tirmus.

Chapter 6

G
ant and Chamz were up the next day before the sun. Hammond House was already astir with hot breakfast on the table. Guests were enjoying eggs, hash and bacon.  As they entered the main room, the proprietor approached them.

“Will you be back tonight?” he asked.

“Maybe,” said Gant.  “I am going to see about a job at Eagle Freight.  If that works out we would like to get a longer term arrangement.”

“When will you know if you are staying?”

“Within the hour, I should think.  I have a recommendation to Mr. Brawnson at the Freight Company.”

“Good.  Then I'll hold one of the better rooms for you as I have several being vacated this morning.  What about your friend?”

“I'm going to get a job, too.”

The innkeeper's brow wrinkled.  “Do you have something lined up?”

“No.”

The innkeeper smiled.  “You look trustworthy,” he said.  “How about working here?  I need someone to unload and stack supplies, clean stables, things like that.  I can't pay much, but room and board is included.”

“For both of us?” asked Chamz.

“That's not what I had in mind.  But,” and he looked at Gant again, “I suppose it might be handy to have a man staying here that can handle a sword and has the good judgment to use it wisely.”

“What do you know about my swordsmanship?”

“Word gets around.  Enjoy your breakfast,” and he nodded at Chamz, “I've got work that needs done.”

They finished breakfast and Chamz went to find the innkeeper.  Gant hustled down the street to the Eagle Freight Company.

Soon Gant stood in front of the bustling warehouses, freight loading area and stables of the Eagle Freight Company.  Crossing the dirt yard, Gant saw men loading, unloading or hitching horses to wagons.  As he approached the log building that was the main office, a burly, armored man with dark eyes and a grim disposition held up one hand motioning Gant to halt.

“Stop.  What do you want?” he asked Gant, his right hand on his sword.

“I've come to see Mr. Brawnson.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“I don't know.  I've a letter of recommendation and came to apply for a job.”

“He's not hiring.  Be on your way.”

“Could you ask him first?  I've come a long way and I really need a job.”

“No, I won't ask him.  We don't need troublemakers here.”

“What does that mean?  I didn't start any trouble.”

“That's not the way I heard it.  We all know what you did to Talth last night and we don't want trouble here.”

“Did?”  Gant's temper was rising. “He came over to my table.  I didn’t start anything.”

Others were gathering around and Gant realized he was shouting.  It rankled him to think people believed he'd been the instigator.

“Besides, I barely hurt him.  If I wasn't such a nice guy, I would have killed him.”

“Oh, now you're so good with your sword you could have killed Talth.  Not likely.  I think you're just another kid come to make a name for himself. Enough.  Clear out.”

Gant studied the men circled around him.  They were burly, working men, anxious to see a fight.  What could he do?  He wasn't starting anything, that would only prove the idiot right, and then he probably would never get a job. 

Gant turned toward the North Road gate when the main office door opened and a gangly man with light hair and flour-white skin stepped out.

“What's the ruckus?” asked the newcomer, staring at the guard who'd stopped Gant.

“Nothing, Mr. Brawnson.  Nothing we can't handle.”

“Mr. Brawnson,” said Gant stepping closer, retrieving Uric's note from his belt.  “I'm here to see about a job.  I brought a note of recommendation from Uric of Netherdorf.”

“Ah, Gant.  I was wondering when you’d show up.”  Mr. Brawnson took the note, examined the wax seal, and then waved Gant into the office.  “It's okay, Bork, I've been expecting him.”

In the office, Mr. Brawnson read Uric’s letter and explained to Gant that he was going to be working security in and around the freight yard.  He had full authority to stop theft, break up arguments or remove undesirables from the property.  After that, they went out into the freight yard and Mr. Brawnson introduced Gant to the others.  When it became clear that Gant had been recommended by Uric and was also Jarlz's nephew Bork’s attitude changed noticeably.

#

Gant began his duties as a freight company employee and the days passed quickly. During the day Gant guarded valuable goods for the freight company while Chamz worked at the Hammond House, which turned out to have more business interests than just the inn.  Occasionally Gant was forced to use his sword, mostly against unskilled thugs and the confrontations were quick knockouts.  Gant and Chamz began training behind the Hammond House in the evening.  Though Chamz showed a natural ability with the sword he was no match for Gant.  For safety, they trained with wooden sticks that approximated the length and heft of swords.  Their swordplay, though rudimentary as far as Gant was concerned, was intense.  Often inn patrons filed outside to watch as if it were a major sporting event.  Chamz did his best but for Gant it was a step backward.  Gant’s father had promised to send Uncle Jarlz to Blasseldune.  Where was he?  Gant needed coaching.  He forgot about Talth and threats of revenge.

Chapter 7

T
he days passed quickly for Gant and Chamz.  Gant's work at the freight company was uneventful except for an occasional troublemaker that Gant dispatched without bloodshed.  The best part of each day was the evening sword practice with Chamz behind the stable.  Chamz had improved enough to be a worthy sparring partner. For Gant’s part he was determined to make the best of things. 

One windy, cold evening with a hint of rain in the air, Gant left work and trudged toward the inn, his cloak flapping behind him like something alive.  No sword practice tonight, he thought.  Nothing to look forward to but a warm meal, a bit of idle talk by the fire and then off to bed.  Dismal prospects. 

He reached the Hammond House, pulled open the door and stepped inside, glad to be out of the wind.  Shutting the door against the wind, Gant looked around.  A fire roared in the hearth, the inn bustled with patrons and the warm cooking smells reminded him how hungry he was.

“Hey Gant,” yelled Chamz from their usual table by the fire.  “Look who's here.”

Glancing toward their corner he recognized Uncle Jarlz.

Gant’s face lit up.  He hurried to greet his uncle.  “Uncle Jarlz, where have you been?”

Jarlz stood up, rounded the table and gave Gant a warm hug and a clap on the back.  “Great to see you,” he said.  “Some greeting.”

Gant sat down overwhelmed to finally see his uncle. “Sorry,” he mumbled.  “I am glad you're here.  I’ve been wasting away.  I've done nothing to regain my good name or remove the blot on Father.”

“On the contrary,” said Jarlz, sitting back down.  “Have some food.”

Gant noticed the plate of roast meat, the fresh loaf of bread and a crock of butter in the center of the table.  He pulled off his cloak, folded it and put it on the bench beside him.  Waving for a pint of ale he said, “Will you be here long?”

“A while, I expect.”

Chamz leaned over and said, “You should hear what's going on in Netherdorf.  You're famous.”

Jarlz laughed.  “I wouldn't go that far.  But people certainly are interested in you, Gant.  It's hardly a day that someone from Blasseldune isn't interrogated in the inns about what you're up to and how you're doing.  Your mother gets all the news straight away.”

“And my father?”

“He is just as eager to hear about you and perks up every time they bring news.”

“News of what?  I haven't done anything.”

“Well, stories do tend to grow in the telling.”  Jarlz took a bite of bread and chewed for a moment.  “I came as soon as I could.  You left things in quite a stir.  Many of the nobles have set against the king for not pursuing you more vigorously.  But their ill will has taken a back seat to other dangers, at least for now.  So, I was allowed time off, so to speak, to see how my favorite nephew was doing.”

Gant chuckled at the “favorite nephew.”   He was Jarlz's only nephew.  “I'm doing all right, I suppose.”

“What about your training with Chamz?”

“Yeah,” shot Chamz, “what about that?”

“Well, yes there is that.  He's improved a lot.”

“And you haven’t?  Actually, I had hoped to test you tonight.  With the wind, and rain, I think we'll put it off until tomorrow.”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“Of course.  We'll train in the freight yard.  There's plenty of room and I'm sure Mr. Brawnson won't mind.  Usually when I'm in Blasseldune, he's glad to have me hang around the yard, adds to the security, he tells me.  For now, let's eat, drink and enjoy the fire.  Time enough to be serious tomorrow.”

They spent the rest of the evening at the table, talking about life in Netherdorf, about Gant's mother, Chamz’ family and what was happening in the world.  Some things were unsettling.

#

In the morning, they were up early and off to the Eagle Freight Company.  As Jarlz suspected, Mr. Brawnson was more than happy to have them train in the main freight yard, a visual deterrent to thugs.

With a preliminary salute and Chamz as referee, they drew their swords and circled for a moment.  Quickly, a crowd gathered, first freight company workmen and then townspeople and soon everyone who could crowd inside the fence.

Jarlz lunged in with a simple thrust.  Gant turned it aside, circled and slashed down across the neck.  Jarlz countered and redirected his sword in a lightning quick thrust.  Jarlz stopped his sword point just in time to keep from piercing Gant's chest.

“One for me,” said Jarlz, and pulled back.

A cheer went up from the crowd.  The two combatants started again.  Gant watched for an opening, saw one and rushed in.  Jarlz turned it aside and circled into a thrust to the chest. Gant blocked it.  Jarlz anticipated the move and countered with another attack.  Gant sidestepped, went for a low slash and missed. Jarlz had him again.  More cheers.

“Two to zero,” said Jarlz.

It went on for nearly an hour.  Gant kept seeing openings, openings he was sure he'd score on only to find he'd misjudged, or was countered at the last second.  At thirty to zero, Jarlz called a halt to groans from the onlookers.

“You've improved a lot since our last workout,” said Jarlz as they walked into the freight company office. 

“I was terrible,” grumbled Gant.  “I’m worse.”

Inside the freight company offices, Mr. Brawnson greeted them.

“Marvelous entertainment,” he said, “but we aren’t getting many wagons loaded.”

“I'm sure,” said Jarlz, clapping the freight company owner on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry, we'll leave you alone from here on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm afraid Gant will be leaving your employ.  He has more serious things to do and time is running out.”

Gant noted the determination in his uncles’ eyes.  “What do you mean?”

“Training.  That's what I mean.  Chamz is a good friend and helped keep you from getting rusty.  You need more intense training with a more advanced opponent.”

“Who is that?”

“Me, of course.”

“What will I do for money?  For a room?”

“As long as I'm here you won't have to worry about money.”

“And what about Chamz?  Does he have to work while I play?  He wants to learn swordsmanship as much as I do.”

Jarlz took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Okay, I'll take Chamz as a student too but he will slow down your progress.”

“No, he won't.  And so what if he does.”

“You won't be ready in time.”

“In time for what?”

“For fate to catch up to you.  Now come on, let's get back to the Hammond House.  We'll have lunch and then go looking for a suitable practice field.”

Jarlz pulled open the door to leave the freight office.  “Thanks for keeping my nephew employed,” he said to Mr. Brawnson.

Then he was out the door with Gant and Chamz running to catch up.