The King's Ring (The Netherworld Gate Book 2) (34 page)

Talon raised the blade and purple lightning danced across the steel, eager to smite the elf.

“No,” the barkeep pleaded with his hands over his head. “I don’t have it, but I can tell you where it is.”

“That’s better,” Talon said. He lowered his blade, but did not place it back in its sheath.

“You seek Nimby, the human you saw in the tavern earlier. He has a bad reputation for thievery, but I had no part in this, I swear.”

“Where can I find this, Nimby?” Talon growled.

“He lives in a shanty near the northwestern side of the wall. Go down the street until you come to the third alleyway on the right. Follow that alley down for two blocks and then go left. His house will be the second to last on the right side of that street. He is about six feet tall, black hair, brown eyes…”

“I saw what he looked like, elf,” Talon growled impatiently. “Will he be alone in his house?”

“What time is it?” the barkeep asked. He cocked his head around to look at the clock on the far wall. “It’s almost five in the morning. There will probably be two or three other guys in the house with him.”

“That’s all I need to know,” Talon said.

“I swear, I had no part in this,” the barkeep persisted.

“Yes,” Talon started with a nod, “you’ve said that already.”

“So, you won’t kill me?” the elf asked.

“I don’t recall saying that,” Talon smirked.

The last thing the barkeep saw was a silvery flash of cold steel.

Alexander slowly opened his eyes. Light flooded in, forcing him to squint. He threw his hands up to shield himself from the sun. Am I dead? Alexander wondered. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted to the bright light he turned his head and looked around him. He was not dead, he realized. He was inside a large, canvas tent. A basket sat in the corner with several blood-soaked rags hanging out over the side. The metallic odor assaulted his nose then and he wrinkled his face in disgust.

He jerked up awkwardly to prop himself on his elbows. He forced himself to look down at the sheet covering the lower half of his body. The cloth had two definite peaks to mark the spot where his feet were. Alexander sighed, relieved that he had both feet. He gingerly removed the sheet, but the sight that greeted him was not pleasant. His left leg was bandaged heavily with gauze pads from mid-thigh down to his ankle. The blood was dark, and seeping through the dressing.

“I did not expect you to wake yet,” a voice commented from the entrance to the tent.

Alexander looked to his left and saw a large man pushing aside the flap of the tent and entering the make-shift triage. It was a surgeon, by the looks of him. A great apron covered him from neck to ankle. Alexander presumed that it had once been white, before the battle and the casualties that came with it. The surgeon also wore leather gloves that covered up to his elbows, and black leather boots. He held a flask in his left hand and a pair of scissors in his right.

“Don’t worry,” the surgeon said monotone. “The flask is filled with water. I don’t drink while I am on assignment.”

“Good to know,” Alexander replied. “Do I have you to thank for saving my leg?”

“Your leg, and your life,” the surgeon replied. “But, I am afraid you will never see battle again. Your left leg was horribly cut. It was all I could do to save the limb. The hamstring has been rendered almost useless. The damage was irreparable. If, and I do mean if, your leg heals without any complications, such as infection, then you will have a heavy limp for the rest of your days.”

“I see,” Alexander dropped his head down and sighed. “You have my thanks, I am sure you did the best you could.”

“I worked a bloody miracle,” the surgeon scoffed. “I’d like to see any other surgeon save a leg under similar circumstances.”

“What is your name?”

“I am Micah, chief surgeon for the second legion of Shausmat.”

“Shausmat,” Alexander repeated silently. “I am a prisoner then?” he asked.

“I am a surgeon,” Micah replied. “I know how to repair wounds and ease suffering, but I don’t play a part in deciding the status of enemy soldiers. That would be for Captain Vald to decide. I will fetch him as soon as I check your bandage.”

“Very well,” Alexander replied. He lay back down and stared at the peaked ceiling of the tent. He focused his mind on thoughts other than war. He thought of playing cards with his brother, fishing from the docks, and anything else to keep his mind off of the surgeon changing his bandages. After a while his mind wandered back to the day before, when he had last seen Queen Dalynn. Her conversation had stirred many feelings in him, some of which he had never allowed himself to contemplate before now. He wondered if the queen would be as fond of him if he returned as a gimp.

The tent flap fluttered open and whipped closed. Alexander looked around and saw that he was alone again. Micah had come to do his duties, and was swift about exiting. It was strange for Alexander to know that his enemy had saved his life. Why had they done that? He thought on that question for only a minute or two before the tent flap was brushed aside by another man.

“I am Captain Vald, I command the host that you attacked two nights ago,” the man announced.

“Two nights ago?” Alexander questioned.

“Aye, you have been unconscious since the battle, but my surgeon was able to nurse you back to life, it seems.”

Alexander eyed the large man warily, trying to decipher why he had been spared. Vald seemed as rough and hard as the steel plate that covered his chest. He was not quite six feet tall, but he was well built, with muscles to spare. His face bore a brown, neatly groomed, full beard, trimmed short. His hair was also short and well kept. His eyes were sky-blue, and seemed at once friendly and deadly. There was a long, red cape draped over his back to the floor with a telltale silver brooch of a Shausmatian officer fastening the cape to his armor. A longsword hung from his belt and his right hand rested on the hilt. He wore no armor over his legs, just a pair of leather trousers tucked into black boots.

  “Micah has my thanks for saving my life, and my leg,” Alexander said after he inspected the officer before him. “I had asked what my status is, now that I am in your camp, but he said that I should put that question to you.”

“Indeed,” Vald said with a nod. “It is fitting for one commanding officer to speak directly with another, instead of speaking through intermediaries.”

“What makes you think that I am a commander?” Alexander asked.

“By the time I rode to your position, along with some of my own knights, I saw a pair of men standing over you. I could see that they had been fighting long and hard. Blood covered their armor, and I am sure that a good amount of it was their own. Around them were the bodies of more of your knights. You must have been a good commander, for every one of your men fought to protect you until their last breath.”

“Every knight?” Alexander probed.

“I am afraid so,” Vald replied with a shrug. “The two that remained when I arrived did not live through the first night. Their wounds were mortal. One had taken a severe blow to the head, and the other had been impaled in the chest several times by a spiked warhammer. I am sorry to bear such news, I truly am, but war is friend only to Nage and Khefir, I’m afraid.”

“Do you follow the old gods?” Alexander asked.

“I do,” Vald replied. “I suppose that is why I ordered for you and the other two men to be brought back to the camp and treated as though you were wounded friends. You fought valiantly, and I believed it best to repay that valor with some measure of hospitality.”

“I thank you for trying to save my men,” Alexander offered.

“No thanks are necessary,” Vald said with a wave of his hand. “I follow the Old Gods, but I lean towards Nage the most. When I saw you and your men I thought of Lionel Gilbrait, and I felt it was my duty to show mercy.”

“The legend of Moonknight is well known in Kobhir,” Alexander said. “He was the most valiant knight in all of Terramyr, and so Nage, the collector of good souls spared his life when he was mortally wounded in the Great War with Khullan, the fallen god of Hammenfein.”

“That is only part of it,” Vald interrupted. “Do you know why his life was spared?”

“As I said, he was the most valiant,” Alexander replied testily. Vald smiled and folded his arms.

“Lionel was spared because when Nage came to take his soul back to Volganor, the city of Heaven, the knight pleaded to have his life extended so that he could continue to fight against Khullan and his evil minions. His selfless request was so pure and honorable that Nage blessed him with an unnaturally long life, to live among us and protect all of mankind until the end of days arrives and he can do battle with Khullan again.”

“I had not heard that part of it before,” Alexander commented.

“Much of history is lost with the passage of time, my friend,” Vald replied. “As I was saying, the selfless act of service that your men were offering compelled me to extend mercy to you, and to them. My only regret is that I was too late to save them. I did get their names though, would you like to know who fought over you, protecting you to their last breath?”

“It was Jaidor and Ret,” Alexander said without hesitation.

“It was,” Vald confirmed, somewhat surprised.

“I will pray for their souls,” Alexander said. He looked away and dropped his gaze to his feet. His soul felt empty and cold at hearing the news of his lieutenants’ deaths.

“About your question,” Vald said, changing the subject.

Alexander looked back up to Vald, but he said nothing.

“You are not a prisoner, per se,” Vald informed him. “I will be returning you back to your city. I will send two of my bodyguards, along with Micah, to escort you back to the wall under a white flag. I ask only that you swear that you will not again take up arms in this fight, and that you tell your queen of the mercy you have received.”

“Why should I tell her of this?”

“Because, if she is willing to surrender, she and her citizens will also receive mercy,” Vald replied.

“Khefir take you and skewer you on a spit,” Alexander bellowed. “The queen will not bow down to you or anyone else. You can not come in here and kill our people without consequence!” Alexander swung his legs over the side of the cot and pushed off with his hands to land on his feet. His temper had caused him to forget about his leg. The instant his left foot connected with the ground a horrible pain shot through his whole body and he toppled towards the ground like a felled oak.

Vald lunged forward and caught the knight. With impressive strength he picked the man up and flopped him back down on the cot. Again a wave of pain flooded through Alexander’s body. He moaned and his back arched in a spasm. It was several, agonizing seconds before he could catch his breath and fix his gaze back on the Shausmatian captain again.

“I understand your passion,” Vald said sincerely. “If things were mine to decide, they would be done differently, but I have my orders. I must carry out the wishes of my king. I know that being a man bound by honor, you understand this.” Vald reached over and pulled the sheet back over Alexander’s leg. “I will fetch Micah, your wound has gushed anew. Tomorrow I will send you back to Kobhir and you can speak with your queen. Decide what you will, but I can only show mercy if she agrees to surrender.” With that he turned on his heel and marched out of the tent.

Alexander started to curse the man, but the words stuck in his throat. The throbbing in his leg was becoming worse. Soon he was unconscious again, though this time it was not a deep, black sleep. He was plagued with nightmares of his home burning, men dying, and the queen sobbing in her tower above the city.

*****

Captain Vald sat on his horse and looked at the walls of Kobhir. It had been a day since he sent the knight back with the request for Dalynn to abdicate the throne and surrender. He held in his hand the letter he had received only an hour ago from Queen Dalynn. A single word on the paper had decided the fate of thousands of men. He looked down at it again, hoping that somehow the word would magically change and prevent the massive losses that were sure to come from the impending battle.

“No,” the letter read. It was a simple word, but it carried monumental consequences with it. Vald shook his head and dropped the letter from his hand. The desert wind blowing in from the west caught the letter and carried it a few yards away before it settled on the ground. “Curse her,” Vald spat.

“Is it not good to vanquish the king’s enemies?” his squire asked.

Vald had forgotten that the boy was standing on the ground beside his horse. “My boy, just because you are at war with someone does not mean you must utterly lay their entire civilization to waste. A nobleman’s goal is to strike hard and fast, but only to inflict as much damage as is necessary to end the conflict. It was my hope that the queen would recognize defeat before the fighting had begun. I prayed for a clean surrender with minimal hostilities.” Captain Vald looked at the city once again as his squire scratched his head and thought for a moment.

“Do you mean it is wrong to avenge the attacks that have been made on our people?” the squire asked.

“It is wrong to let your feelings of vengeance overrule morality,” Vald replied. “If we can end the war by forcing Queen Dalynn to surrender, then that is what we must do.” Vald allowed time for a pause at that moment. He wanted the words to sink in to his young squire’s head. “However, if the enemy does not submit and they continue to fight, then so we shall continue to fight as well. It is our duty to end the war one way or the other. Just remember that it is more honorable to give your opponent every opportunity possible to surrender.”

“What if they say they will surrender, but they wait until our backs are turned and then attack us again?”

“Do not fear my boy. Just because we would have allowed them to surrender does not mean that we would turn our backs to them and allow them to place a knife there. We always take the necessary precautions. Even after this battle is over we can expect that groups of rebels will form up and antagonize us. We will remain in the city in full force to maintain the peace, and ensure victory for our people.”

“I should like to stick a blade in those Zinferth dogs as well,” the young squire announced.

“No my boy, not this time,” Vald replied.

“But other squires are allowed to fight with their masters…” the squire countered.

“That is because their masters take no care whether their squire lives or dies. I on the other hand would not like to tell your parents that I had sealed your fate by allowing you to fight.” Captain Vald gave him a pat on the head and a fatherly smile to console him.