The Crown Of Yensupov (Book 3) (37 page)

Unnoticed by orcs and people, Twit had worked his way down through the smoke hole in the hut’s roof, and was pecking away at the rope fibers holding Saxthor’s hands. The old bird was exhausted. He was half way through the rope, when Bodrin crept over and cut the binding with one stroke of his knife.

-

Nice, thought Twit. Good of you to come now. The old bird flew up in Bodrin’s face and then up and out the smoke hole. I hope I can keep Delia out of sight in the reeds.

-

Tonelia watched through the crack at the hut’s opening for signs of strange behavior, stranger than usual for orcs. It wasn’t long in coming. The orcs started to drool and stumble about then jerked their heads side to side in nervous twitches.

The orcs can’t reason or react, she thought, turning to Saxthor, “It’s time we were leaving.”

Saxthor led the detainees back to the boat, where most of their supplies were still intact, less the dried fruit. “I have to get our gear.”

Tonelia stood watch, while Saxthor held up the escape to search for and retrieve their confiscated goods.

“I suppose we can’t leave without those weapons that’ve gotten us through so many scrapes,” Tonelia said, watching Saxthor search the camp.

While Saxthor and Bodrin got their weapons, Tournak coaxed Delia from hiding, and Tonelia called back Twit. Delia couldn’t resist a good nip on the orc commander’s backside. He was in no condition to prevent her parting expression of contempt. Twit took the opportunity to leave his calling card on an orc’s head, as well.

Not that he’ll notice it in that greasy nest,
thought the bird.

With washed up oars located and a substitute mast of lashed orc spears, the party escaped the encampment. Without any battle at all, the refugees left the orcs to explain what’d happened to their prisoners and themselves.

The ambassador’s party had sailed down the Nhy to Favriana and Heedra, announcing the return of their long lost Neuyokkasinian prince. With the ambassador’s return, word spread of the heroic rescue in Sengenwhapolis and the news that Prince Saxthor would arrive soon after the ambassador’s departure. Back at Favriana, the people and garrison at Favriana Fortress were ecstatic. Word flashed across the kingdom about the valiant troupe's exploits. No sooner had a watch in Favriana Fortress spotted their little boat still out on the lake than the news spread, and citizens began gathering.

“I’m worried about the dragon’s progress,” Saxthor said, from the patched steering oar at the stern.

“We can see Favriana Fortress’s spires from here,” Bodrin said. “We’re almost at Neuyokkasin. We’ll be home soon.”

“Yes and with a dragon in hot pursuit,” Saxthor said.

As they sailed closer, they began to see multicolored crowds, streaming their way down narrow streets to the docks. It was like a great hat with multicolored ribbons flowing out from the fortress through the pompoms of whitewashed buildings and orange terracotta roof tiles on the brims. In glowing spirits, the refugees sailed down the lake and docked at the Favriana docks without further incidents.

The whole town and garrison had turned out to welcome the heroes. Everyone that came to greet them wanted Saxthor to tell in his own words, about rescuing the Sengenwhan royal family and the ambassador. Saxthor was reluctant to speak of it.

“Try to keep the growing tales in line,” he asked the others.

It was Tonelia, who told the best stories. Everywhere she went, children and adults alike followed her for retelling of her versions. As a girl who'd spent most of her life hidden away in Castilyernov Hoyahof's dungeons, her vivid imagination took hold. Tonelia embellished the frame of reality more each time she told a tale. Someone would marvel at some aspect of a story they’d heard, and Tonelia would light up like a torch. She’d put her hands on her hips, wind up, and began with, “Let me tell you this…” No firsthand gossiping housewife ever hung over the back fence with more enthusiasm to share a tale than Tonelia Tezentok at Favriana.

When the excitement died down, the three men found themselves feeling sad. As they walked about on the docks, Saxthor and Bodrin passed the awe-inspiring gateway to Favriana Fortress. Nostalgia overcame them.

“Remember we first met Hendrel here,” Saxthor said.

“Yeah…Let’s go see if the sergeant that nearly tossed us in jail is still at the desk,” Bodrin said. He put his hand on Saxthor’s shoulder and led the way.

*

At the same table, the sergeant was scratching his head staring at a befuddling stack of paperwork. “I don’t know how they expects me to understand all these here new forms.”

“Good morning, Sergeant,” two simultaneous voices said.

Shaking his balding head at the paperwork, he put on his hat when he heard the cheery greetings. The wilted old sergeant looked up, and then jumped up at attention to salute his prince. He puffed with pride that Saxthor would greet him, personally, in such a familiar tone.

“Good morning, Your Highness and Lord Vicksnak,” the sergeant said, still standing at attention, saluting. His uncontrollable grin beamed. “What cans I do for such important visitors, Your Highness?”

“Just wanted to thank you for not throwing my friend Bodrin here in the dungeon before,” Saxthor said.

The stunned and bewildered sergeant stared; his smile vanished.

Saxthor returned the salute. “At ease, Sergeant.”

The sergeant deflated like an unstoppered water skin. “Whatever could you mean, Your Highness?” The sergeant’s lips quivered. “I’ve never seen Your Highness and Lord Bodrin before you come yesterday. I’d never try to put our heroes in the dungeon.” I was so close to retirement. Now it’s chains in the dungeon, the sergeant thought.

“But you’re mistaken, Sergeant. You all but threw Bodrin in the dungeon and only ordered us out of Favriana to avoid having to do all the paperwork to jail the man Hendrel and him,” Saxthor said.

“Impossible, Your Highness, someone’s playing a mean joke on me. I’d never threaten to jail your lordships. I never heard of a man called Hendrel. You can put me on the rack, but I didn’t do any such thing.”

“Would you bet your hat, Sergeant?” Bodrin asked.

“I’d eat my hat if I did such a thing,” the distraught man said.

Saxthor laughed. He told the story about their experience, when passing through Favriana on the way north. As he was finishing, the sergeant slumped down in his chair, then jumped up again at attention. Behind them, a detachment of soldiers came through the gatehouse.

“You there!” Bodrin yelled to the troops.

The corporal turned, saw Saxthor, and immediately the whole group snapped to attention.

“Corporal, that last man there, arrest him,” Bodrin said.

The dark, heavily muscled man bolted for the door. The soldiers followed and caught him before he got beyond the door.

The sergeant watched all this, amazed. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

“That soldier is spying for Dreaddrac. I think you’ll find he has my knife on his person or in his possession,” Bodrin said. He described the knife in detail.

The corporal searched the man and found the knife hidden in the soldier’s boot. The detachment hauled the traitor off to the dungeon after returning Bodrin’s knife. The sergeant stared through the whole incident.

“Check back through your paperwork, sergeant, you’ll find Bodrin and Hendrel last fall,” Bodrin said.

“I have to believe what Your Highness tells me. I’m ruined. Throw me in the dungeon and toss away the key. No man will befriend me if anyone finds out I almost arrested our prince. I begs Your Highness’ forgiveness.”

Resigned to his fate, his energy drained away. He took off his hat and looked at it, then swallowed hard. I hopes my old teeths can chew this, the sergeant thought.

He was about to take a bite of the brim, when Saxthor pulled it away from his mouth.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, my good man,” Saxthor said, through his disarming smile. “You did your job, and you did it well. We’re here to tell you we’re proud to have such a loyal and dedicated man guarding this crucial city.”

He turned to Bodrin; “I think this man needs a few more stripes on his sleeves, don’t you?” Saxthor took the sergeant’s hat and put it back on his befuddled head, adjusting it with care.

His jaw hanging, the sergeant just stared at Saxthor. He’d just seen his life end on the rack, and in a few sentences, Prince Saxthor, hero of Neuyokkasin, was congratulating him for an excellent job of nearly arresting the prince. Rattled after five minutes of emotional extremes; he could barely decide if he should pass out or rejoice. Only a lifetime of military discipline kept him conscious.

“Thank you very much, Your Highness,” the perplexed sergeant said. “It was an honor to almost arrest Lord Vicksnak. I mean…well…you know what I mean, Your Highness. I hope you know what I mean, I’m…I’m not at all sure what I mean.” I just want to crawl under the desk, he thought.

Saxthor and Bodrin shook the sergeant’s hand in turn and left the gatehouse.

“He’ll have to sort out his life from here,” Bodrin said as they passed through the doorway and looked back. Though he heard it, it didn’t register with the sergeant who’d just slumped in his chair.

Years later, as an old man, he would tell his grandchildren how he almost arrested the hero-prince. When he died, his last words were to honor the prince’s visit.

On their way back to the docks, Saxthor and Bodrin reminisced about Hendrel.

“One day when the mission’s complete and things calm down, I’ll erect statues of Hendrel in Favriana and Hador, his home,” Saxthor said. “I’ll see to it we make Hendrel’s wife and children wards of the state in his memory, so they’ll never want for anything.”

The two men arrived back at the boat, where Tournak was stowing the replenished supplies and new gear for the trip home to Konnotan.

“Beat up anyone this time?” Tournak asked. He didn’t look up, just kept shuffling supplies. “I know there’ll be some tall tale as to why I’m the only one working on this boat.”

Saxthor and Bodrin looked at each other, grinned, and stepped in the vessel. They said nothing, but set to work helping Tournak, who patted each on the back and returned to repacking the boat.

Tonelia was sitting on a piling, retelling their exploits once more. Two dozen adults and children, who had heard it several times before, surrounded her.

“It would seem they have to hear it again,” Bodrin said, as he handed Saxthor a box of produce.

Twit had had enough of all the commotion. He took refuge on the steering oar, his washed wings extended in the sun.

Tonelia eventually joined the others in the boat with poor Delia hiding from all the attention. She stayed right beside Saxthor with every move.

The garrison commander from Favriana Fortress and the city’s burgomaster came to say farewell and send the travelers off on their voyage home.

“The dragon Magnosious is trailing us. You should be prepared in case the monster attacks the harbor and fortress,” Saxthor said. Still exhausted, but with renewed spirits, the voyagers rowed out into the river, raised the new sail on their new mast, and sailed off downriver with the current. “Now that we’re within Neuyokkasin, I feel easier, knowing the orcs aren’t lurking nearby,” Saxthor said. The others agreed.

They kept an eye out for hostile creatures. No trolls lurked near the banks and no wraiths would appear, at least not during the day, even if they had penetrated this far south. Their voyage down the River Nhy was pleasant even though it was winter. The current was with them and the winter wind helped, pushing them along even faster.

This far south, the river didn’t freeze over, but ice formed along its edges in the night and gave it a frosted look in the mornings, when the ice stood out from the bank above the river water. The tree trunks rose to the sky like pillars holding up the ceiling in a great hall. Previously invisible, owls and hawks were notable on leafless tree branches like awesome ornaments. Ducks still flew from slew to slew and along the river’s course, seeking the remaining food on their migrations. What was bleak to some was a welcomed sight to these weary travelers, who saw the familiar sights they left a lifetime before. Saxthor, Bodrin, and Tournak knew it wouldn’t be long before they reached Heedra and turned south on the Southern Nhy to Konnotan.

When they arrived at Heedra, the river town was abuzz with the news of the returning prince and his band of heroes. As in Favriana, the whole town turned out after hearing of the prince and his companions’ daring exploits in saving the ambassador and the Sengenwhan royal family.

The weary travelers wanted to replenish their supplies and sail on to Konnotan, but the local officials wouldn’t hear of it. A great celebration lasted the whole day. The adventurers, who had lived on dried fruits and meats for so many months found themselves inundated with the finest of foods the citizen’s competitive cooking could devise. Just trying to taste all the delicacies presented to them at the feast that night was enough to make Bodrin sick from over indulgence.

“I can’t eat another bite,” Saxthor said. He looked at his companions.

“Me either,” Tonelia said. She pushed her still-full plate away from her.

“When we sailed up river incognito, we barely got enough dried food, and now we aren’t able to escape this flood of cooking,” Tournak said.

“Hush,” Bodrin said through a full mouth. He held a piece of pie in one hand and a slab of roast hung from his knife in the other. Both were missing large bites.

Late that evening, the exhausted travelers begged to take their leave and get some much-needed rest. In the morning, the heroes came down from their rooms at the town’s best inn to a dining hall filled with an endless assortment of more food. As the municipality’s most honored guests, the citizens hovered everywhere to fulfill their slightest wish on the spot.

“We must get moving,” Saxthor told the city’s burgomaster and the new military governor of Heedra.

“We understand,” the rotund little burgomaster said. “We’ve a surprise for you, Your Highness.” The mayor and governor accompanied the travelers to the docks with a retinue of followers carrying their bags. With the splendid fanfare of a parade, all the town’s citizens declared a holiday and lined the street from the inn to the dock. Centered along the dock, they found their little riverboat replaced by the town’s finest and swiftest vessel. Garlands and long streaming flags embellished the craft, ready for their departure. The mayor beamed at the military governor and then at Saxthor.

“A dozen oarsmen volunteered to row Your Highness and his entourage up the Southern Nhy to the capital with all speed,” the burgomaster announced. The elegantly attired little man looked around at the crowd, his short arms raised for their approval. The military governor winked at Saxthor, then saluted.

“We’ve been totally self-sufficient for months, and now they won't allow us to lift a finger on the final leg of our journey,” Saxthor said, smiling and waving to the crowd.

Never being one for ceremony, Twit flew ahead and staked his claim to the steering oar’s handle after a full inspection. The man holding it wasn’t aware of Twit’s rights and tried to shoo him away. Twit fluttered and flew up in the man’s hair to deliver a special little black and white note of disapproval.