Black Kerthon's Doom (8 page)

The night air was cold and the ancient passages of the tower provided much amusement for the wind as it howled and murmured through the ruins. Daura imagined she heard the cries and voices of the people who once dwelt there. Some were joyful but many lamented their fate and through the faint words came the name "Kerthon". The wind crested and fell but the voices never diminished.

The cold numbed her and she thought she recognized words in the wind. She started and looked into the blackness. She thought she heard footsteps. But there was only silence. Then the breathing started. Slow and deep and beyond her sight in the interior of the tower. It seemed to move closer and there is was! A definite footfall! She sprang to her feet and ran into the courtyard and ducked into a doorway but it was a low passage and she struck her head and fell to the ground stunned. A black shadow stood over her and stooped as if to pick her up.

The rebel camp was two days away on foot. Mira did not speak often and pushed them as fast as they could walk. Serada kept looking for signs of the other rebels Mira said accompanied her, but he did not see them. Macelan and Serada had thought their flight from the Calendian army had worked them into good physical condition. Mira showed them they were mistaken. She kept to forested areas where the walking was harder but she urged them onward. They stumbled at the pace, admonished for making too much noise. Serada repeated a litany of curses with each step, partitioning his mind from the burning in his legs.

They were too winded to speak with Mira but they listened to what little she had to tell them. She did allow them some information about the rebels, the rumor of which had barely reached Dale. Macelan was surprised how strongly people felt about the activities of the High King. High King Michak had banished his cousin, Gareth, from Calendia after the latter had amassed popular support for his ideas of reform. The High King did not think reform necessary or desirable and tried to rid himself of the problem. However, Gareth had many supporters who left Nantitet with him as Gareth vowed to return for the throne.

"How long ago was that?" asked Serada.

"Five years, although it seems so recent. I still remember how some people jeered at us as we walked out of the city. Many were for us, but not in public and those against were extremely vocal. It was great satisfaction to know our agents were able to spread rumors about them to discredit them. A mean trick, but necessary. Frankly, I was surprised the High King let us leave. I think he regrets it now. I haven't seen my family since, but I don't miss Nantitet otherwise. I wasn't raised there."

"Where were you raised?"

She did not answer and looked at the sun. She shook her head and pushed them faster. She wanted to reach a safe area to camp and at their pace they would just beat the darkness to their destination. The afternoon was cloudy and they were able to keep a good pace. Finally, Mira pointed to the campsite. Macelan and Serada slumped to the ground upon reaching the site. She had to kick them to get their assistance to set up camp. Dinner was meager and cold. Mira watched the stars as Serada and Macelan slept. She slept for a few hours among her captives but they were bound and she could do no more. Besides, she had six rebels in the woods nearby. She was safe enough.

By dawn they were on their feet again and walking hard. Mira did not speak the entire day and they fell down exhausted at night.

The next morning they were awakened early by Mira who gave them a wooden bowl of water to wash themselves and a few pieces of ripe fruit for breakfast. She walked them hard until lunch and then they rested for an hour. A couple hours of travel in the afternoon brought them within earshot of the rebel camp although they did not know it. It was dark again when they reached the camp. Mira spoke to a sentry and then led them to a tent where they had fallen asleep when they hit the mats. Neither one noticed anything about the rebel camp at their arrival; they only thought of sleep.

She stood over them as they ate their breakfast. Then she led them from their tent past several groups of rebels sharing java. The newcomers drew the gazes of most of the rebels. Macelan did not look around, but Serada was curious about everything. They passed through a ring of tents to the inner camp where a large tent had been raised. It was easily big enough for several families and as they entered, they saw more than a dozen figures seated around one large table. Most were drinking wine and paying little attention to the newcomers. At the head sat a burly man with a long iron gray beard, which hung to his chest. He was dressed in a baggy drab green shirt and brown pants and his boots were caked with mud. He was twirling a hunting knife in his large hands and he watched Macelan and Serada as they entered and were brought before him.

"You are the ones from Dale?" His voice was high and Macelan barely suppressed a grin. Gareth noticed the humor in Macelan's eyes and cleared his throat.

"Yes," said Serada. "We were pursued by soldiers. They wanted to conscript us."

"Fleeing from that, eh?"

"And a night battle in which many soldiers were killed," added Macelan.

"That is a better tale," said Gareth. "We can use seasoned veterans. If that is what you are. Your fate with us is much the same as if the soldiers had caught you. I need all the soldiers I can find to fight the High King."

"We do not want to fight," said Macelan. There was a murmur around the table. "We want to return home to help our friends against the soldiers," he added quickly.

Serada watched his friend with doubt. Gareth did not seem to appreciate weaklings.

"You have no choice, men of Dale," Gareth said through his teeth. "Here you shall help your friends by defeating the High King and returning the land to its former bliss. There is no other choice for I offer none. I cannot allow you to leave, you know us now and the location of our camp, and if you stay, we cannot support those who do not carry their own weight during war against the High King. You must fight for your lives. We are not a gentle people."

"I met the High King long ago," said Macelan. There was a murmur around the table. "This doesn't seem to be like him at all."

"You know the High King?" Gareth sneered. "Do you spy for him as well?"

"No, my grandmother was a servant for the Royal family years ago and I visited her often."

"The grandson of a former servant knows the mind of the High King several years after a chance acquaintance. Well, that is encouraging." There was a laugh from the group. Serada hung his head. "Things are looking up. These two shall bring us victory single-handed."

"This is important," said Macelan.

"I have known the High King all my life," replied Gareth. "He is my cousin. We played together as children. And I have seen his recent handiwork. If you support him you are not welcome here or in any free society."

"You're mistaken!" Macelan protested. Gareth eyed Macelan and dug his dagger deeper into the tabletop.

"I do not think you have the substance to back up your opinions. A few weeks of hard training shall take the edge off your tongue."

"You cannot hold us here against our will!" cried Macelan.

"Enough!" cried Gareth. "You do not know how foolish you are, Macelan of Dale. You have no choice in the matter. Actually, you do have a choice; join us or die. And to join us you must prove yourself in our training and actual combat. You both are to begin training immediately. Mira shall begin your lessons. And look to your business. I will not tolerate fools. We must defeat the High King."

Gareth turned away and began to talk to his followers at the table while Mira led the duo back to her tent. Along the way, she picked up two other soldiers to help with the training. Macelan looked at the sky. It was cloudless and the temperature was very warm for mid-morning. He expected Mira would sweat them to exhaustion and if they were lucky she wouldn't give them any water and they would die of thirst. Much simpler than fighting soldiers. At least if the soldiers had conscripted them to fight it would have been for the winning side. And there would have been a chance for personal survival. Macelan did not hope for it anymore.

The camp covered a large area with tents in and out of the trees. In the center of the camp near Gareth's tent was the pit where the meals were cooked. There was a fire burning constantly and the rebels seemed oblivious to the smoke, which rose and twisted in the breeze. Macelan wondered at the smoke. Wouldn't the Calendian army be able to locate them?

"We are too far away," said Mira, following Macelan's gaze. "The forest protects us and the smoke swirls to nothing by the time it is high enough to be seen to the south."

Macelan wasn't convinced.

Their first day of training passed quickly and ended as they bathed in a cold stream and were allowed to eat with the other soldiers. Although they were both exhausted they stayed up late listening to the stories of the rebels. It was near midnight when they went to sleep.

Serada's dreams were full of battle and bloodshed. He woke several times during the night, his shirt damp with sweat and his heart pounding. Each time he awoke, he looked at his friend who slept soundly and did not stir. Serada peered through the flap of the tent and saw few rebels except for the sentries. There was no sound. He turned back to his bed and tried not to show that he had noticed Mira's eyes watching him, apparently expecting an escape. But Serada soon fell back into an uneasy slumber.

It was far too early when Mira shook him awake.

"If you would sleep during the night the morning would be gentler."

"What?" said Macelan. "Were you both awake in the middle of the night while your chaperone was asleep?" He laughed despite the crack on his head from Mira.

"We shall work the mirth out of you."

"Thanks again," Serada said to Macelan. "I can always count on you to make things easier."

"What do you want? We haven't eaten this well in months."

"Keep your talking to a minimum," said Mira. "You will need all your energies. If you are still full of humor when you are looking at the blade of your enemy a mere inch from your throat, then I shall take back what I am thinking about such as you."

"What are you thinking, my sweet?" asked Macelan. She belted him again and called for her assistants. She trained them hard and without a break for lunch. Macelan's feet bled from running barefoot over gravel and he could not move without help by the time they finished that night.

Macelan found the pace grueling. Much of the first days were filled with survival training and tracking drills. Serada found tracking to his liking and began to enjoy it.

"It's amazing how much I've learned," he said.

"Not really, considering what you had to start with," said Macelan.

"I see signs in the grass that I never knew existed," said Serada, taking no notice of Macelan's comments. "It's hard to imagine how much there is in the world that I don't know. I could spend my lifetime learning about everything I see and still not know enough."

"So why try?"

"Don't you see what I mean? Don't you feel the excitement?"

"I feel sore and tried. Tracking does nothing for me other than confuse me. The survival training wasn't too bad. I lived through it. This is not the life for me."

"And what is the life for you?" asked Mira who had just joined them.

"Perhaps a large villa on the coast," said Macelan.

"How do you propose to purchase that villa?"

"Dreams," said Serada. "He lives on his dreams."

"Well, we shall try to work those dreams out of you. You must only think about the job at hand."

Macelan shook his head, grabbed his gear, and followed Serada out into the forest for more training.

A week passed without a change in their routine then Gareth came and talked to Mira. She nodded but spoke very little as the rebel leader questioned her about her charges. Gareth turned toward them.

"Serada will go with Mira to the southern outposts. Macelan, you will come with me. I am missing a messenger and am quite concerned. We will leave within the hour. Prepare to be gone several days."

"Where do we go?"

"Do not question Gareth!" admonished Mira. "Just obey."

"In due time," said Gareth, softly. "You will find out our destination when we arrive. Be ready." He turned and walked to his tent, pulled back the flap and disappeared.

"Well, what about that?" said Macelan. "Going on a mysterious mission the first month. Better than fishing, eh?"

"Can't you shut up?" said Serada.

"You must get ready too," Mira said to Serada. "We should leave before noon."

They all returned to Mira's tent and filled their packs with food, clothing and Macelan sat at the opening as Serada, and Mira waved in parting. He did not have long to wait before Gareth and another man came to him.

"This is Brice. He will scout for us. Your friend goes south and we go southeast. Come, we must use the daylight, it is not wise to travel at night near the tower."

"Do you mean Kerthon's tower? I have never seen it."

Brice was tall and broad shouldered. The life of a rebel had thinned him and given him a rangy appearance but he still projected physical strength.

"We are passing it," said Brice. "It is not wise to spend time near it, much less enter the ruins. I have not heard of anyone who was not adversely affected by the strange sounds and sinister presence among the stones. We shall not pass it at night. Let us go."

"Are the legends of Kerthon, true?" asked Macelan.

"Some," said Gareth. "I do not know which ones so don't bother asking. We are passing the tower because it lies on the most direct path to where my messenger should have been or is following now on her way here."

"I think we are distantly related."

"Are we?" asked Gareth, shaking his head.

"My grandmother's name was Meradith."

"Sincerely?" Gareth seemed pleased. "I remember her. She was my mother's cousin. I haven't thought about Meradith for such a long time. She's dead?"