Found
The great black warhorse snorted a cloud of mist into the air and stamped the snow impatiently. Thullbiehne, armored and cloaked, sat silent and unmoving atop the great beast. Behind the visor of his armored helm, his glowing eyes scanned the horizon. His sweeping gaze came to rest on a sprinkle of black specks against a mass of white snow that was the slope of the mountain.
The black specks seemed to crawl slowly, but this was only an illusion from the tremendous distance. Thullbiehne's keen eyes saw the specks and recognized them as horses with riders. Although still over ten miles away, their movement belied great speed. Far greater than any normal horse should be capable of. Atleast, without the aid of magic.
"They approach”, said Thullbiehne. The words broke the silence of the cold morning air.
“How many” asked Drake.
“Twelve.”
Drake was watched in silence for a few moments more. The riders were proceeding directly for Drake’s group. Drake raised a hand and made a single, commanding gesture - the gesture that the three replicants had been waiting for. Quickly, they divested themselves of their heavy cloaks, revealing tattered clothing beneath. The clone-prince and his bodyguard both worn ragged uniforms beneath which could be seen numerous wounds. The advisor wore the Kitaran robes of office.
Without a word, the three began to walk out across the field of snow toward the riders. Drake and the others watched as the three went. He then turned and nodded to Ragell. She closed her eyes and began to chant softly. Drake turned back to watch the three falselings depart.
Ragell’s chanting softened and ceased. The falseling Tyrus turned back toward Drake’s group and saw only a copse of trees where Drake, the witch and the others had been before.
* * * * *
"Sir!"
Nolken's head had been lowered, lulled into a daze by the last three hours of the ride. His head snapped up with the alarmed cry.
"Yes?" responded Melkran. "What then?"
"Up ahead!" The soldier brought his horse up astride Melkran's. "Three on foot!"
"Do you mark a standard?"
"Aye sir. Two of them wear Myranor's colors."
"Finally," he said. Turning to the cloaked man beside him he added " I guess you're magic isn't so rusty after all." The old man grinned and gestured for the captain to charge forth as he knew he wanted to.
The captain placed spurs to flank and the gray mare beneath him leapt forward and the soldiers behind followed.
Melkran surveyed the situation as he rode up. The three men before him were emerging from a small copse of woods. The three strode forward, calling out. Melkran strained to see their faces. They were tired, unshaven and haggard. But alive.
But only three! They were twenty strong when they left Myranor so many months ago. Jerrik was limping along with the help of Tyrus. And yes, just behind the large bodyguard was Davillon, the prince. Melkran broke into a wide grin and smacked his saddle. Three of twenty. But the prince was alive and that was all the mattered.
The twelve riders brought their snorting mounts to a halt a mere twenty yards from the three. Jerrik threw up his arms with a cry of glee and Tyrus waved and grinned. Davillon looked up to see Melkran and responded with a quiet smile.
Poor boy, Melkran thought. He’s unused to such hardships. It must have been hardest on him.
“Praise be to the Gods! We’re found!” Jerrik cried.
Commander Tomolov leapt off his horse and clasped his arms around Prince Davillon. Several other soldiers dismounted and wrapped thick blankets around Tyrus and Jerrik while Melkran tended to Jerrik’s injured ankle.
[THE CLONES ACCESS MEMORIES AND INFORMATION DURING CONVERSATION. BACK AT THE CASTLE, DEEP IN THE DUNGEON, PRINCE DAVILLON FEELS THE PROBING OF HIS MIND AND ATTEMPTS TO RESIST BY BLANKING HIS MIND. HE FAILS. THE MAGIC IS TOO POWERFUL. CHAPTER ENDS WITH CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE PRINCE AND HIS CELLMATES.]
A sharp, bitter wind was racing down the slopes and whipping about the fifteen riders as they galloped through the snowy vales. The smooth strides of the horses kicked up little snow as the flew across the drifts, enchanted hooves mere inches above the powdery mass.
Near the center of the group, the three clones were bundled in blankets and heavy cloaks. Each had been given fresh dry clothes and hot stew before the return trip had begun. Still, Commander Tomolov repeatedly looked back over his shoulder, as if to assure himself that he actually had the three and that it had not been just a pleasant saddle dream.
Little had been said. Tomolov’s orders were to find and return the wayward diplomats to Myranor as fast as possible. He assumed that the Council wanted to break the news of his father’s death to Davillon. He had been instructed not to burden the prince with such news until he was again safely at home.
Tomolov turned back to their course and drove his heels into the horse’s flank. They had a long journey ahead of them.
* * * * *
Drake, the witch and the others sat atop their horses and watched. They had witnessed the scene that had unveiled before them. The cheers, the hugs, the healer tending the wounds of the falslings. Now they watched as the Myranor search team and the three falslings returned. They were again distant black specks on the snowy fields.
When he was absolutely sure that everything had gone according to plan, Drake turned his horse around and trotted back up into the mountains. The others followed.
They had been travelling only for less than an hour when Drake stopped. Before him, the snow quivered and lurched. A mound of snow rose from the drifts. It assumed a humanoid shape. Crystalline features chiseled themselves upon the head of the snowman. It became a stooped, balding man with glittering eyes. A robe and walking staff carved themselves from the living ice. The ice opened its eyes and looked at Drake.
“Lord Alfax,” Drake said with surprise. They were not expecting such a communication. He faltered for what to say.“All… has gone according to plan. The three falslings have been found and taken in by the search party. They travel back to Myranor even now.”
“As it should be,” said the ice. “But now, we have another problem…”
Faith
It was late afternoon and the bright sun glinted on the snow that crunched underfoot and glinted harshly in the crystalline hearts of the icicles all about them.
Kelverin's breath came in abrupt gasps and snorts. He was unused to such physical exertion. His short fat legs pumped frantically, kicking up clouds of snow as his squat form bounced and bumpled across the field of snow.
The four had been pushing themselves hard for almost over two hours. They reached the top of a hill where a small copse of snow covered pine trees stood. Hogarth parted the branches of the largest. The large low handing branches bent down to the ground under the weight of the snow they held. The gap between the branches and the bed of needles formed a perfect shelter that would hide them and keep the wind out. The four staggered in and collapsed onto the soft needles. Kelverin flopped down on his belly. His face was flushed and his frantic panting sounded like a mad man at the bellows. Great gasping snorts issued forth between coughs. Spittle flew from his lips but he did not bother to wipe it away. He only cared to suck down precious air into his burning lungs.
"We’ll rest here for the night," said Hogarth. "And start again tomorrow before dawn."
A garbled noise of agreement sounded from Kelverin. Fenric patted Kelverin on the shoulder.
“You’ll be alright”, he said. “Just lay there for a few minutes. “
Hogarth left the cover of the foliage and Kelverin fell asleep almost immediately. When Kelverin awoke, he found Fenric and Valdemar feasting on two rabbits that were roasting over a small fire they had built. Hogarth sat crosslegged nearby. He was whittled and carving several sticks that lay next to him.
“What’s that for?”
“This one’s for you. I thought I might take this chance, while we rest, to fashion you a walking stick. It’ll help on some of the rougher footing ahead. And if this piece is a strong enough, I might be able to fashion myself a bow.”
“Rougher?”
Hogarth only smiled and winked. “That’s right. You’re in for a treat. You’re going to get to see the true majesty of the Malus Mountains as few ever do. You’re going to journey through them, passing the highest peaks. I may take us through some of the rougher passes as well. Places that horses can’t get through.”
Kelverin considered this and then shrugged, seeming resigned to his situation.
"He’s right, Kelverin. Our captors are undoubtedly pursuing us on horseback and tracking us by spell. If so, then we need to make their journey as difficult as possible."
Kelverin crawled to the edge of the tree and peaked through the foliage. The setting sun threw long shadows across the tremendous slopes before him. A virtual snow field arched up and away for atleast a mile before being broken up by boulders and rockfaces. All about, peaks towered. A skittering wind whipped over the field and blew cold flakes into his face.
Tomorrow was going to be a difficult day, but at least it was tomorrow.
Untitled
Cas marches into the slavers guild.
The great oaken doors to the Slavers' Guild were swung wide and Caspian strode in. He walked right past the young yellow sashed guard sitted at the desk within and proceeded for the main inner hall.
"Sir? You can't -"
"Caspian ignored him and proceeded into the main reception hall where a small group was gathered. Two powerfully built red sash officers stood at attention, flanking Sinjin. She stood naked and unbound. She looked as if she had been recently scrubbed clean (against her will). She rubbed absently at the sore marks on her wrists where the leather thongs had cut into her flesh.
A fat and gaudily dressed nobleman with a greasy look about him stood in front of Sinjin, hungrily eyeing her from top to bottom. He allowed his eyes to wrist on her ample breasts and flat stomach. An equally dressed aid hovered near the attendant fanning his master.
A grey haired blue sash slave lord stood stroking his beard while he spoke. “As you can see, the bathyns are a handsome race. Their outdoor life hardens their bodies-“ The blue sash stopped and turned to see who had entered.
“I've come to buy a slave.”
"Very well, but I am with the Lord Rimkin. Perhaps Attendant Mooril can help you.”
“I want to buy that slave.” Cas said pointing.
The nobleman shook his head and gestured excitedly. “This is preposterous. I was told that she was being saved specifically for me!”
“You want another mistress for the bed chamber. Another body you can violate. This one is a swordmaster. A warrior. And you would waste her for carnal pleasures.”
“If you please!” cried the aid. The noble's eyes fluttered and the attendant quickly reached out to steady his master.
“Gentlemen!” said the blue sash. “I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. “ He turned to Caspian. “Lord Rimkin has made a generous offer for this slave. What do you offer?”
Caspian reached in a withdrew the Heart of Alykor. Suddenly, the room was abuzz with activity.
“A bloodfire stone?
"Is that a real one"
"I've never seen one so large!
“Gentlemen!” cut in Cas, looking directly at the blue sash. “Give the bathyn woman to me. Right now. No questions asked. And this,” he said, clutching the magnificent jewel in one fist, “is yours. This is easily worth ten times what this overfed fool can squeeze from his coffers.”
The blue sash hesistated. He watched the light mix and churn in the belly of the magnificent stone. He then gave a slow nod to Caspian and turned back to the nobleman. “My good sir Rimkin, in light of this new offer, I'm afraid we will have to reconsider our arrangement. We will, of course, have to relinquish the bathyn woman to the superior offer. But if it is fine flesh you desire, we have several dark haired beauties, wild and untamed, straight from Myria. Perhaps one of those or all might suit you.” The blue sash guided the flustered nobleman and aid away with the smooth wit and assured manner of a salesman.
Within five minutes, Caspian was walking out of the Slavers Hall with Sinjin on a leash.
This page last updated Wednesday, December 24, 2008. Copyright 1990-2009 David M. Roomes.