The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) (3 page)

As the crush of notables noticed Arnwylf, a cry of favor went up.

At the far end of the hall, King Otodyo lifted his sizable bulk from his throne carved of rust colored stone cut from the Red Mountains.

"Silence!" King Otodyo commanded.

Arnwylf noticed another man, also adorned with royal gold, standing next to King Otodyo.

"Where have you been?" King Otodyo snapped at Zik.

"I took my friend to see the writing on the Little Shoulders," Zik said plainly. The Red Mountains were also called the Little Shoulders, in contrast to the Big Shoulders, the snow capped mountains far off behind the Red Mountains, said to hold the sky up on its back.

"Fine," King Otodyo mumbled with a flutter of his hand to invalidate Zik's presence. Then Otodyo straightened and assumed an officious pose.

"With the great honor of King Hathabanya, our neighbor to the south, visiting," King Otodyo announced to the happy throng, "we also celebrate Arnwylf of Bittel, Prince of the Weald, and third in line to the throne of Reia, and now slayer of a record sized nyati."

Arnwylf visibly winced at the titles. He wished he had never told any of Zik's people about his heritage. He felt, and always would feel, like a simple country lad.

The mob of lords and ladies applauded Arnwylf until his face turned red. King Hathabanya held up his hands. The king from the southern land looked remarkably like King Otodyo, and Arnwylf wondered if they could be brothers. Both were overly adorned with gold trinkets, and necklaces of many colored jewels.

"Dear Arnwylf," King Hathabanya proclaimed, "choose one of my daughters for marriage tonight, at this feast, multiply our joy."

King Otodyo, who had opened his mouth to speak, was noticeably annoyed at having been preempted by his guest sovereign's offer, and seemed to sputter for a moment, quietly spitting unformed words.

"And you shall marry one of my daughters tonight, as well," King Otodyo said with a deep, meaning voice, regaining his composure.

King Hathabanya clapped his hands and his daughters broke from the party and lined up before him. The princesses were mostly young, barely marriageable age, yet they all seemed excited at the chance to wed a now famous and noted visitor from the lands to the north.

Not to be outdone, King Otodyo clapped his hands, and his daughters lined up in front of him.

"Choose," King Otodyo said, "choose, son from the Weald."

"King-," Arnwylf stumbled, "Kings, I am greatly honored, but..." Arnwylf helplessly looked to Zik for help, who flared his eyes telling Arnwylf to go on.

"Do you refuse my offer?" King Hathabanya said with a gentle malice to his voice, a quivering smile on his fat face.

"I come from a land to the north," Arnwylf carefully said. "A land filled with ice and snow."

"Yes, yes," King Otodyo said. "We know of your land. Will you choose one of my daughters to wed?"

"My father, Kellabald," Arnwylf said, desperate to avoid the offers from the kings, "was a great man. He led the combined human armies against the evil garond general Ravensdred at the Battle of the Eastern Meadowland."

Arnwylf looked around. No one dare interrupt as he spoke of his father. But the look of expectation in every eye made Arnwylf feel a rising panic.

"My father," Arnwylf went on, "gave his life. You might say he lost, but he won. His leadership broke the garond army and saved our lives, but he died. What greater honor can we bestow on a man who gives his life to save his people?"

"Do you not want to marry one of my daughters?" King Otodyo asked, his eyes narrowing with anger.

"Your people nursed me for a moonth," Arnwylf said, continuing with humility, "after I was fished out of the ocean by my good friend, Captain Zik." The Kings glared with disapproval at Zik. "I assure you," Arnwylf continued, "I realize the burden I must have been. Your people have been only kind and honorable to me. I have learned much, and love your people..."

Arnwylf looked around with dismay, he spread his long fingers imploring someone to help him. The well dressed lords and ladies dumbly stared back at Arnwylf, as if they assumed it was a tradition of wealders to stumble and stutter, and they didn't want to be rude and interrupt his mounting embarrassment.

"Yes," Zik suddenly spoke. "But to choose properly, the Lord of the North must first see his prospective brides dance."

"What?" King Otodyo boomed indignantly.

"I chose my third wife after seeing her dance," King Hathabanya sniffed with regal disdain.

Zik ran to the musicians and urgently prodded them.

"Play, play," Zik commanded the surprised musicians, who quickly lifted their instruments and broke into a somber tune.

"No, no!" Zik exclaimed. "Faster, faster, this is a party, not a funeral. At least I hope it's not," the last under his breathe.

"Dance, dance!" Zik called. The princesses looked to their fathers, who nodded to proceed.

Zik leapt among the nobles and ladies. He swung his arms and spun in a riotous dance, elbowing ladies and pushing the lords.

"Everybody dance!" Zik yelled. "Is this a feast or a religious service!?"

The lords and ladies began to join in the dance as Zik pranced and swung various nobles about to heighten the party.

"Dance! Dance!" Zik shouted as the music rose in tempo and joyfulness.

As the crush of royals began to gyrate and laugh, Zik grabbed Arnwylf and swung him about with a merry jig. Zik tossed Arnwylf back and forth through the crush of nobles, bringing not outrage, but merriment to the growing, happy agitation of the increasing cavorting of the giddy crowd.

"Dance this way," Zik said out of the side of his mouth to Arnwylf.

Zik swung Arnwylf into the crush of wildly dancing lords and ladies, whose laughter seemed on the verge of hysterics. Then, Zik pulled Arnwylf down low, so they couldn't be seen, and crawled through the gamboling party, trying their best to keep from being stepped on.

King Otodyo and King Hathabanya both scanned the capering mob of royals for Arnwylf, both momentarily flustered. The princesses danced their hearts out.

Zik pulled Arnwylf to the back of the hall, and a large window that was ajar to ventilate the stuffy room. The window led to the back of the palace, but it was as good an escape route as any.

"Out you go," Zik said, as he pushed Arnwylf out the window. Zik rolled out the window right behind Arnwylf.

Arnwylf landed with a grunt in a royal bush of the King's Garden. Laughing he pulled Zik to his feet. But, Zik was paralyzed looking just behind Arnwylf.

Arnwylf could feel a hot, fetid breath on his neck, and then he heard the low guttural growl of an animal. He slowly turned to find himself nose to nose with a huge feline animal with extremely long fangs.

The beast was a huge predatory cat, but twice the size of a lion. Its coat was a mottled pattern like a leopard, but it had a short, squat muscular body like a hyena. Its snout was short, and it opened its mouth wide without a sound. The fangs, the length of Arnwylf's forearm, glistened with saliva in the moonlight.

Without thinking, Arnwylf dropped and rolled under the beast.

The animal bent its head down to follow Arnwylf, as Zik whipped out his sword, in one motion, hitting the beast on the head as hard as he could with the pommel of the sword.

This gave Arnwylf time to get his sword out and plunge it into the side of the beast. As Arnwylf desperately twisted his sword into the creature's heart, he noticed a chain around its neck. This was one of the King's prized garden pets.

Zik stabbed the beast again and again, as the animal writhed in pain, not knowing which assailant to attack.

"Arnwylf!" Zik urgently whispered. "Do you live!?"

Arnwylf pushed himself out from under the saber-toothed cat.

"I live," he said with a frown. "But we have killed a pet of the King."

"All the more reason to get away from here as quickly as possible," Zik said with a stone face. He looked down at the beautiful slain beast with regret. "There is no way I can pay for this animal."

From the window, the distressed calls for Arnwylf could be heard as his disappearance had finally been noticed. The agitation and calls from one Kingsman to another echoed amongst the growing cacophony of the outraged gathering of lords and ladies.

Zik grabbed Arnwylf and pulled him through the garden, as the two made their escape.

Out of the palace, and through the streets of Attubyamba, the two ran through the night, slipping as quickly as they could through the busy streets.

"Where can we go?" Arnwylf breathlessly asked.

"I think it's definitely time for you to go home, young wealder," Zik said with a smile that flashed in the night.

North they fled, to the docks, trying to keep too less used streets, and avoiding anyone with an official rank. Behind them the growing noise of the search began to ring through the town, the sound of a great pursuit in which the whole of the bored city could involve themselves.

"Zik," Arnwylf said and motioned for him to look back.

Zik looked over his shoulder, and saw a platoon of Kingsmen hot on their heels, as they reached the outskirts of Attubyamba. Here were mostly darkened warehouses and closed shops.

"Let us hope Myama is smarter than he looks," Zik said to himself, as the two ran to the west, the direction of the ocean, through empty alleys.

As they reached the docks, Zik and Arnwylf clattered with the Kingsmen gaining on them. The sound of the Kingsmen's stomping feet on the wooden docks sounded like the patter of a hard rain to Arnwylf. There will be quite a storm if they catch us, Arnwylf thought to himself.

"Cast off! Cast off!" Zik called to Myama who stood at the gunwale of the Kyrial, Zik's ship.

The Kyrial, fully repaired, had its three red sails unfurled, and they were filled with wind, straining to take to the open ocean.

Arnwylf could hear the creaking of the tensed ropes as they were untied from their moorings. The massive ship began to pull away from the dock, as Myama and the other sailors shouted urgently for the two to get aboard.

"Go! Go!" Zik said to Arnwylf, pushing him forward.

Zik turned with his sword drawn to face the Kingsmen, who pulled up ready and happy to fight the disrespectful sailor. The King's Guard spread out and drew their swords.

Arnwylf leapt and barely made the gunwale of the ship, clutching the edge of the ship with his fingertips. Myama and the sailors of the Kyrial roughly pulled Arnwylf over the gunwale and flopped him down onto the main deck.

Back on the dock, Zik stood before the King's Guard with sword drawn. The Kingsmen slowly advanced, as Zik slowly retreated.

"Call your ship back!" The lead Kingsman demanded of Zik.

"When Kyrial sails," Zik said with a wild smile, "she must sail."

"Then you go to prison," the Kingsman told Zik.

"I don't think so," Zik smiled. "Because I can swim, and I'll wager you can't." With that, Zik sheathed his sword and leapt off the docks.

The Kingsmen dumbly stood on the edge of the dock as Zik seemed frozen in the air with the graceful arc of his dive. Then he hit the water with hardly a splash. He surfaced and swam for his ship. A rope was thrown to their captain, and Zik was smartly hauled aboard, laughing like a mad man.

"Farewell!" Zik called to the King's Guard. "Tell the Kings their party was delightful!"

The Kingsmen were immobile, mouths hanging open, filled with dread at facing the fateful task of reporting their failure. The lead Kingsman stepped to the edge of the dock as though he was about to leap in the water. His fearful hesitation sent an uproarious laugh among the crew of the Kyrial.

"Ladies," Zik commanded, turning to his crew, "full sails, we head north to bring the white boy home!"

The crew happily cheered, and eagerly set to work.

Both moons rose in the night sky, filling the sea with sparkling facets of moonlight. The Kyrial cut the waves of the placid ocean like a sharpened knife.

Arnwylf leaned on the gunwale and stared into the mysterious depths as if he was trying to fathom his future course. The lines of waves intersect and then go on their way, Arnwylf thought, much like the lives of humans.

Zik leisurely joined the Arnwylf. "Feeling sick?" He asked.

"Not a bit," Arnwylf answered with a confident smile.

"I'll turn you into a sailor yet," Zik said with a small smile. Zik turned to stare at the mesmerizing flashing of moonlight on the ocean. The sea seemed to glow a deep aqua, and the Kyrial appeared to be gliding over a plane of illuminated green glass.

The two leaned on the wooden rail without speaking. The night was mild and the sea air filled with the salty perfume of a clean and bounteous sea. There were only a few puffy clouds on the horizon to the west, slowly moving in a line to the north like immense white and gray animals trundling along without a care.

"What if-" Zik began.

"Do you-" Arnwylf started at the same time.