The Axe and the Throne (46 page)

Keldona had been among those who believed only in the divinity of the Dawnstar, and Edwin and Aileana had come to share the same faith. It was no accident that Edwin now ruled Strahl, his younger sister living there as well, as it was a known safe-haven for the Illumined. Their faith was tolerated in Rivervale, but not without ridicule.

“Wise words, my king,” said Cassen slimily.
Has the man ever spoken a word untainted by the filth of deception?

“And on the subject of women, Alther, my boy, we must speak of Ethel.” As the king spoke the words it seemed all in the immediate vicinity stopped their eating, ensuring the sound of their own chewing would not interfere with their overhearing what would come next. Derudin was as eager as any, save perhaps Alther. Lyell made a pacifying gesture with a downward palm to Alther. “Understand, I respect that she is your daught—”

The king stopped mid-sentence without any apparent reason. Derudin studied him and saw that he stared into the distance, transfixed on some point. Following his gaze did Derudin no good, as it appeared to lead to a burning sconce on the far wall.

“Father?” asked Alther. His concern for the king's wellbeing was no farce. Alther looked consumed with worry.

Lyell stood up and turned forward, facing the hundreds of guests in attendance below. His face now showed of discontent as he appeared to take in all he could with his eyes, not looking at all happy with what he saw. The roar of the crowd diminished as some took notice of the glaring king. Then, without warning, the king bent forward, violently spraying a fountain of deep red from his mouth. It covered the table and turned the previously white fur on his cape to a drenched, clumpy mess. The heaving continued for a moment and was followed by convulsions as the king fell onto the table. It was then that Derudin realized the red that came from his mouth was as much blood as it was wine.

Out of instinct, Derudin gathered shadows and backed away, thoroughly effective in his effort given everyone's attention had been fixed on the king. There was nothing he could do to defend the king against an unknown attacker, and his priority was to determine if and how he could stop whoever it was that was harming him.

There was not a single person in attendance, however, that did not have the same look of shock upon their face. Master Warin was on his feet, mouth gaping. Cassen looked deceptive as always, but Derudin had to admit, he must have also been somewhat honestly horrified by the sight, given his demeanor. Even Master Larimar seemed to have been sobered by the unexpected scene as he stared at the blood upon the table. But Alther looked worse by far, as would be expected of the king's son. His anxiety was palpable, and in his eyes grew a depth of sadness.

The king's spasm ceased. Alther went to him first, turning his father, still on the table, onto his back and attempting to check for breathing or heartbeat. Gasps could be heard as guests saw the blood-soaked front of the king. The beard he was always so careful to keep flawlessly groomed had the type of beaded drool upon it that made men appear as infirm babies, except that Lyell's was red. Alther's face blanched as he lifted his head from his father's chest.

“Sir Warin,” said Cassen who must have forgotten his proper title in the commotion. “Arrest Alther and Derudin at once. Alther's gift must not have been without toxin, and Derudin did nothing to prevent the king's consumption.”

Had Derudin not been withdrawn and enshrouded, he would have been the one to feel the clamp of the strong man's hand that grasped the wrist of Alther. Alther had a banquet knife in the other hand, however, and he lashed out at Cassen and screamed.

“You said he would only sicken! He is
dead
!”

Warin's grip on him prevented his lunge at Cassen from landing, and Cassen backed away with a flamboyant show of fear and frailty. Alther seemed to collapse in hopelessness at both the futility of his failed attempt and the loss of his father. Derudin considered it was also possible he too now felt the effects of the poison that had no doubt been present in the wine. Lyell had near finished the bottle, and a look at Alther's glass showed he had only taken the initial gulp during the toast.
A kingdom reborn, and to a grotesque man disguised as a mother, covered in silks tainted with blood and treachery.
If Alther's words were true, whatever was present in the wine meant to “sicken” the king might now kill Alther as well.

“Where is that damn wizard? He was just here,” said Master Warin.

Derudin was already on his way out before it was too late. His shroud would not fool eyes that searched with purpose.

“The charlatan has fled.” Despite the distance Derudin had placed between him and the room, Cassen's words carried. “Let there be no question as to who was the mastermind behind this murder, then. When you find him, bring him to me…dead or alive.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“No wonder those river thieves were so eager to trade at the mention of our direction. The city was mere miles away.”

“Aye,” replied Keethro. “And look at that.” He nodded in the direction of the enormous barge on their port side laden with mounds of white crystallized blocks.

“You mean you got cheated by that old bastard?” Titon was amused to see Keethro, who fancied himself an expert negotiator, taken down a notch.

Keethro bared clenched teeth. “Perhaps.” He then cupped his hands around his nose and mouth to shout. “Hey there. How much for a pound of salt?”

A few of the men on the barge paused as if they heard but continued on, not caring. Keethro did not give up.

“I have five marks for the first man to throw me a pound. Half a fist will do.”

The three grungy men aboard the barge certainly appeared the type to have done some quick business, especially with their employer's goods.

“Eight marks,” shouted Keethro with a mix of anger and desperation.

“I'll give ya a full fist for free if you keep yappin' at me like some auction wench,” cried one of the men as he finally turned to them. His demeanor changed after seeing the two who did the asking. Titon and Keethro were close enough to board the barge in short order if desired. “It's the king's salt and it's not for sale,” explained the man. “Not that I'd care to sell it so low if it were my own. If we so much as lick it we're out a job, so be on your way and don't cause us any trouble.”

Titon was a bit disheartened, but Keethro looked relieved. “Perhaps not,” he said, exonerating himself of the charge of having been swindled.

The enormity of the castle loomed overhead to their starboard. The closer they had gotten, the larger the structure had become, yet the size of the walls was less impressive than the sheer amount of land they must encompass, spanning as far as the eye could see. A city could fit within with room to spare for farmland it seemed.

“How would you even attack such a thing?” Titon wondered aloud.

“I do not think you would. But we are yet to see how hard it is to get inside. Every giant has a weakness.” Keethro smirked.

Keethro was his old self in truth; Titon could see that now.
Should I need to bring down this castle, I brought the right man to help me do so.

They docked at a crowded pier within sight of a bustling gate that would be their entrance to the kingdom. Atop the gate's two massive turrets flew an identical flag, each larger than a man, depicting a scene not unlike the one it stood upon: a river flowing in front a castle. It seemed an appropriately immense fortification to safeguard the elixirs Titon hoped to find within.

“Let's carry all the supplies we intend to keep. I do not expect this raft will still be here when we return.”

Keethro nodded in agreement, and they fashioned packs from their bedding and tied what little they still had to themselves. Their bows, knives, salt, purses, rope, and a green copper pot was easy enough for them to carry between the two of them.

They made their way to the open portcullis, hoping to pass through unobstructed just as the rest of the people appeared to be doing. On the top of the structure behind the parapets, four archers could be seen. At the gate itself were four more guards, a pair on each side, heavily armored in layers of ring mail and each with a massive halberd of at least two men in length. They all wore matching tabards with many smaller rivers flowing into one massive vein. Titon and Keethro put their heads down and began to walk through as if they had done so every day.

“Ho!” said one of the guards, waving them over to his side of the gate. “Where are you two brigands off to?”

Considering how well Titon's last negotiation with guards had gone, they'd already agreed it would be Keethro who would do the talking. “Same place as all these other fine men and women. Inside for some trading.”

“For some trading?” He chuckled. “You don't look like you have anything worth trading.”

The other guard did not look so amused. “Rivervale has no need of more vagrants. We got enough of them begging and shitting all over the place as it is.”

“We have no need to beg, and we will see that we shit in the proper places,” said Keethro.

“No need to beg, eh? That's good to know. What about the big one? He dumb?”

“I speak,” said Titon, “but my friend here has the sharper tongue.”

“Well, we don't need any more sharp tongues either. Might be best if you two just went back to wherever you came from. And where would that be?”

“The canyons to the north,” said Keethro. They had decided not to mention Strahl or Phylan in case word had spread about any of their recent scuffles. Pretending to be Dogmen was the best they could come up with.

“Yeah? And you didn't meet any conscription parties on the way?”

“Not sure what you mean. We came down the rivers on a raft. We didn't see much of anyone.”

“That might explain it then,” the guard said gruffly. “Well, it'll be a mark to get in for you. Two marks for the big one, as he's like to use twice the water.”

“I don't see anyone else paying to enter,” Titon challenged. He did not much care for the demeanor of this guard. It reminded him of another lawman who recently got a bellyful of spear.

“No, but you see that one there?” The guard pointed to a hunched lady limping her way through the gate. Her clumped hair seemed to somehow have less color than grey, and she had a putrid look about her that promised a foul stench should they get any closer. “She's the queen. And that one there?” The guard pointed to a boy being pulled in a wheeled cart by an old man. His arms flailed around with excitement, his lower half remaining completely still. “That's the prince and heir to the throne.”

Now that specific attention had been drawn to the types of people passing through the gates, it seemed odd how few men there were, only those old and decrepit.

“So you see,” continued the guard, “I have to let the likes of them through because they're rich and noble, but outsider trash like you pays a fee to enjoy the luxuries of our great city. And now that you mention it, there's an extra fee for carrying weapons, and those bows look mighty deadly.”

“Aye, they look good and mean, those bows,” chimed in the second guard, now wearing a happy grin.

Keethro placed a hand on Titon's shoulder and addressed the guards meekly. “We barely have two marks between the both of us. Our true intention is to find work inside. We are both talented at several trades, but we've had hard times in the North. We just wish entrance. We're not looking to cause problems.”

“Give me what you got, and you can go inside and get good and rich, I'm sure.” The quieter guard had a chuckle at the prospect.

Keethro looked to Titon solemnly as if in apology and tossed the guard his entire coin purse. Titon could not believe his eyes as the bag landed with the crunch of many coins into undeserving hands.

The guards laughed openly. “Go on in. And don't try to leave until you've spoken with the conscription officers. They will want to have a word with you.” With that, the guards turned their attention to the coin purse, splitting its contents between the two of them.

“How much was in there?” They had walked a ways inside before Titon asked.

“Some two marks or so in copper. I'm going to need to stock up on purses, though. I think we'll have need of that trick again. Just make sure you try and look as angry about it as you did back there.”

The atmosphere had changed upon entering the walls. Thick with the smell and noise of too many bodies in too small a place, it threatened to choke Titon's breath. The stench reminded him of the Dogmen kennels, horrid in its own right, but the sounds were perhaps worse. Hundreds if not thousands of voices from close and far overlapped each other in a growing crescendo of confusion. For a man who'd spent the past decade of his life in the wilderness, beside a gentle stream, with a wife who spoke not a word, it was overwhelming. He figured he'd soon have to shout at Keethro just to be heard as they moved further into the cacophony.

The majesty of the walls had not prepared Titon for the squalor within. Whereas the main road that led to this kingdom, the Eos, was wide and ever flowing, floating graceful hulls in loose formation, these dried mud roads that crossed within were congested with the desultory motion of legs and wheels, both in twos and fours. Those who walked about them now looked to be either starving or suffering from some affliction brought about by the living in filth.

Keethro must have seen it on Titon's face. “Not as you expected?”

“We have seen battles less hellacious than this. Let's find a mender and be out of here as soon as we can. Every guard here reeks of corruption, and they may be the least desperate of this lot.”

Just as it seemed the city had declared war upon Titon, it offered an armistice. He and Keethro came upon a section that seemed mostly devoted to food vendors, and Titon realized he was quite hungry in spite of his anxiousness. The vendors had no need for shouting. Long lines formed in front of all their carts, each a similar type of structure with two large wheels on one side and a pair of handles or yoke on the other. Most had small fires going, cooking things that smelled good enough to make Titon forget, for the moment, that they still stood in a cesspit of sweat and feculence from both man and animal.

The vendor that immediately caught both their eyes and which had the longest line served a familiar foe. The head of the very beast, if not quite so large as the one they'd battled, was mounted atop the center cart, displayed at a good height so all could see. “River Dragon Skewers, Two for a Mark,” it read.

“I told you it was a dragon,” Titon declared, slapping Keethro on the back. “Let us have a taste of this beast.”

They had a long time to study the process by which the creature was prepared while waiting. The line snaked back and forth from the leftmost of the vendor's carts, where the monetary transaction in trade for the skewers took place, to the last of its five carts. At the rightmost cart, a tail of the creature was being butchered by a man who appeared well suited for the job, removing the thick, leathery armor with practiced slices to reveal a pink if not purplish flesh. The butcher was a beast unto himself. His head was shaved clean, and two halves of a messy beard clung to either side of his bare chin, the only part of his face not otherwise covered in deep scars. His lower jaw protruded to the extent that his bottom teeth may have been bared if not for his lips being sewn together, done so with crude cordage. The thick muscles of his neck danced to the rhythm of his slicing as he portioned the meat into squares the size of one joint of a finger, stopping only to hack off a new tail from the pile of bodies behind him. The tool for that job fit him almost intimately: a rusted cleaver too large for a normal man to heft with a single hand.

The rest of the workers looked quite similar to each other and nothing like the butcher. They were small and dexterous, completing the remaining tasks of skewering, battering, frying, and salting the meat with alacrity.

The process was engrossing enough to almost distract Titon from the churning anticipation of his stomach. “For such an ugly thing, it looks and smells quite pretty when cooked, does it not?”

“Aye, it does.” Keethro seemed equally captivated, albeit by something from a different direction. Titon followed his gaze and saw that behind them in line, a couple of older men chortled, each encouraging the other. In front of them, a young pair, a boy and girl, looked extremely uncomfortable. “It is not our fight,” Keethro reminded him before he had reason to understand why.

Two men took turns stroking the young girl's hair, then pretending as if they had done nothing. Neither she nor what appeared to have been her brother, given their likeness, could have been more than nine years of age, and seemed helpless to defend themselves against the harassment. The men had upped their antagonism to that of briefly massaging the girl's shoulders and pinching her bottom. She would bat away their hands but did not turn to confront them. It was obvious the boy was torn between allowing his sister to be fondled and facing a foe in which defeat was the only outcome, and the battle for the latter was beginning to win. The look of wistful determination in the boy's eyes reminded Titon of his own son when forced to fight his younger brother in earnest, finally having been provoked to the point of madness during training.
Was I as cruel to Titon as these men are?
He pushed the thought aside and replaced it with thoughts of Titon being victorious in combat against the Dogmen, at last appreciating his training, and coming home to read the letter left for him—all of which should have already taken place by now. He and Decker had no doubt worked together with synergy on their raid, just as when they hunted, and returned home as heroes.