The Powterosian War (Book 5) (10 page)

The mass of officers erupted in conversations about the king’s speech behind him as he left the throne room, returning to his apartment high in the keep.

There was a knock at his door soon after his body servant had taken the helmet and armor. Grekenbach stood on the balcony in the night breeze, looking over the city at the enemy campfires beyond the walls. “Enter,” the king said, coming back inside.

“Sorry to disturb you, Majesty,” the chatra said. “The generals wanted me to convey their support for you in every respect. Your speech was a resounding success. It has restored their confidence. Word is spreading through the city of your return to us. The people are lighting celebratory bonfires in the streets.”

“Yes, I noted the bonfires. I hope the people are not wasting precious fuel we may soon need.”

“They needed this night, Majesty. They needed their king’s assurance you are with them.” The chatra smiled at his king, bowed, and backed out, closing the door.

Grekenbach returned to the balcony. He watched the bonfires multiply across the city below the palace as the joyful news spread. I hope they’ll be as joyful after tomorrow’s battle; that their joy isn’t smothered by more grief.

* * *

Prince Pindradese read the message an ogre brought him in private. The flap to his resplendent tent was closed. He was alone in the decadence with which he surrounded himself. But there was a feeling of fear akin to when, as a boy, his father locked him in a dark tiny closet for many hours at a time when he failed to meet some expectation. The message was cold in his hand. It brought the leering eye of the Dark Lord to mind, watching him as his father’s judgmental eye did so often. He shuttered, remembering the audience in the Munattahensenhov. A candle flickered and Pindradese jerked around, leering at the tent entrance to see who opened the flap, but it remained closed. He pulled his cloak around his chilled body, though the fire burned in the brazier and the tent was warm. His stomach churned. He took a deep breath, broke the dark, blood-colored seal, not disturbing the massive dragon rampant, and opened the message.

“Why haven’t you taken Feldrik Fortress!” was all it said. The implication was terrifying. The letter seemed icy cold. Pindradese dropped it, then snatched it up and tossed it on the field table as if it burned his fingers.

The sorcerer-king entertains no excuses and has already warned about delays, he thought. But I can’t break the resistance at the castilyernov. I’ve army enough to keep the garrison penned down inside, but not enough to overrun it.

“Guard!” Pindradese shouted. A head appeared at the flap. “Summon the generals.”

“Now?”

“Now, you idiot.”

Still chilled, Pindradese paced the multilayered carpets. Minutes seemed like hours. Presently, his generals came in, remaining silent before him. 

“We must take Feldrik,” Pindradese said. The generals looked at each other but said nothing. “Tomorrow night, no, tomorrow noon, we want your combined plan, a consensus as to how we are going to take Feldrik Fortress within a week, no later. You may go.”

“But Your Highness,” a general said after looking to the officers on either side of him. “You must know we don’t have the men to overrun the castilyernov. It would be suicide.”

Pindradese turned to the field table and lifted the letter written on some parchment, not of sheepskin. He thrust it at the generals in an arc so each could see the seal clearly. Their eyes swelled bulging at the sight of the blood red dragon.

“We think you have seen this seal before,” the prince said. The generals instinctively drew back. “We think you will have a plan of attack by noon tomorrow. Better to die in battle than to face the consequences of failure.”

The generals rushed out of the tent without another word.

* * *

Saxthor rushed to Botahar ahead of his men that followed overland, due to a lack of boats to transport them. He arrived at the docks, noting the river traffic from Girdane docked there. Boats laden with supplies worked their way up river as well. The lights burned bright in the tower windows of the governor’s palace on the moonless night. The king moved quickly through the town to the palace. On arriving, he asked for an audience with Queen Dagmar, only to learn from the guards, the queen had left the city. No one knew where she’d gone.

“Well, who here is in charge of the city’s defenses?” Saxthor asked.

“The queen’s senior general and Major Count Vicksnak,” the guard replied.

“We will receive them immediately,” Saxthor responded, assuming his royal tone. Bodrin came dashing up to greet Saxthor before the guard could react. He must have sent a courier to notify Bodrin and the general immediately on seeing me approach, Saxthor thought.

“Your Majesty,” Bodrin said, bowing and reaching to grab Saxthor’s hand. The Sengenwhan general was right behind him, bowing deeply to Saxthor, but apparently not daring to speak a greeting before acknowledgement.

“Come this way, Your Majesty,” Bodrin said, leading the king into the palace with the general following. He started to speak, but Saxthor shook his head slightly and Bodrin held his tongue. He led Saxthor to the private situation room in the tower. Behind closed doors, Saxthor hugged his friend and saluted the general, who returned the salute.

“What’s the situation here?” Saxthor asked. He looked at both men in turn.

“We’ve broken Tarquak’s army. They retreated to the slopes above the city, but it’s a stalemate,” the general stepped forward to say. “We’ve not the forces to attack them there and they’ve not enough to overrun us here.”

Bodrin looked at Saxthor, nodded agreement but remained silent.

The general is jealous of the Bodrin’s favor with me. He seeks to demonstrate this is his city and he’s in command. We must both remember the general’s position and be respectful of it.

“Thank you, general,” Saxthor said. “You’ve done an excellent job of defending your city. We’re sure King Calamidese would have appreciated your excellent abilities as we are certain Queen Dagmar does. We trust you found Major Vicksnak helpful.”

“Yes indeed, most helpful,” the general said, beaming. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He bowed deeply and smiled at Bodrin.

Saxthor felt the tension in the room dissipate. Saxthor took off his cloak and gloves. “Tarquak cannot withdraw; we all know that. The Dark Lord would do worse things to him and he’s already suffered death. He is probably waiting for some sort of reinforcements from Dreaddrac.” Saxthor turned again to the Sengenwha’s senior general. “We understand the queen has left the city. Do you know where she has gone, her plans, or when she will return?”

“No, Majesty,” the general replied and said no more.

“Then you, General, must take all precautions to defend this city. It must not fall into enemy hands. Not only would the last stronghold of Sengenwhan sovereignty disappear with it, but the enemy would command the river here. They would cut off the major supply route for defenses, Botahar. You must hold the city and river.”

“I shall do my best,” the general said.

Saxthor dismissed the general. After he left, Saxthor sat down with Bodrin. “How do you feel about the city’s defense?” Saxthor asked.

“It will hold for the time being, but we don’t know what Tarquak will do next or what kind of reinforcements he’ll have.”

“Yes, of course,” Saxthor said, looking toward the window and the enemy fires on the slopes. “What’s this message you sent me about, pertaining to the seer?” He looked Bodrin in the eye. “Wrong way… does that mean troop movements or general plans or what?”

“She was very stressed. She just said you were going the wrong way. I have no idea what it meant. She wouldn’t explain it; just said it three times.”

Saxthor rose and paced the room, looking down at the floor, his thoughts trying to discern the meaning. “I’ll go and see her tomorrow.”

*

The next morning Saxthor, with Bodrin at his side, slipped out of Botahar, crossed the river, and farther upstream crossed back to find the seer’s cave. They came close enough to watch the cabin. No one seemed to be there so the men crept up to the hut. After looking around to be sure there were no orcs, they knocked on the door, but no one answered. They slipped around back, as they had done when they came to the seer on their journey back on their adventure to obtain the crown’s crystals.

“There doesn’t appear to be anyone here,” Saxthor whispered. They peeked in the small window. “No, but orcs have been here. Look at the overturned stools, the storage boxes and cases. Someone has searched through everything.”

“Maybe she’s in the cave,” Bodrin said.

“If the seer isn’t in the cabin or cave, I have no idea where to look for her.” Saxthor said. “Did she mention anything about her whereabouts? We’ll check the cave. If she’s not there, we’ll go back to Botahar.”

In the grotto, where Saxthor had seen the bubbling spring with the enchanted pool, the water had nearly evaporated. It stood still and stagnant. The light emanating from it before was gone.

“Whatever the seer held in the pool has returned to the elements with her departure,” Saxthor said.

“Or has been captured and taken prisoner by the Dark Lord’s minions.”

Saxthor looked at Bodrin, who looked back toward the cave entrance at the thought just suggested. “The source knows too much about me and my destiny to be in enemy hands.”

The two men turned to go but were startled by the image of the seer, her wispy white hair fluttering in the breeze at the cave entrance.

“Wise one,” Saxthor said. “We thought we had lost you. Where is the source in the pool?”

“Gone, as are we all,” the seer said. “The axis of the world is turning.”

“What did you mean by ‘I’m going the wrong way?”

“The king looks up,

But the danger’s below.

Beware those nearest,

Yet far away.

The tide comes in

To swallow you up,

Drown the tide,

And summon the deep.

You must topple the highest,

To become the greatest.

“What does that mean?” Bodrin asked when the seer disappeared again.

“Makes no sense to me,” Saxthor replied. “The mystery only gets worse.”

*

Saxthor and Bodrin left the seer’s cave and sailed upriver to Hoya where Belnik was in a huff at Saxthor’s long absence. In the Hoyahof’s keep, Saxthor paced his room. He twisted his mustache while pondering the seer’s mumblings, searching word by word for a clue. Bodrin sat eating a fine meal.

“Wrong way, does she mean direction, that I was traveling north to fight with the Heggolstockin army or does she mean some method of something?” Saxthor said. He glanced at Bodrin who shrugged his shoulders; his mouth was full. “This is maddening; I’d as well be without the old woman’s warning as with it.” He smacked a desk with a stick in hand. The frustration was lessened somewhat. He picked up an apple but resumed pacing, spinning the apple in his fingers as Bodrin ate.

“You should eat something,” Bodrin said, still chewing.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Saxthor said, his frustration inflaming annoyance. Bodrin grinned and continued to chew, his pace unbroken. “It’s a good thing you move frequently from one war front to another. I’m not sure any city could feed you long.” The two of them laughed.

Belnik knocked and entered the room with another tray.

“Your Majesty must eat dinner,” Belnik insisted. He looked at Bodrin and frowned. “If you don’t eat something soon, there’ll be nothing left for you.”

“Was that directed at me?” Bodrin asked. Grinning, he took another bite of roast, then reached for something on the tray Belnik still held. The valet jerked the tray to his side out of Bodrin’s reach.

“This is for Saxthor; you’ve a table of food already, though I see you’ve eaten enough for ten men from the look of the cleared platters and mounds of bones.”

Bodrin pretended to sulk. Squinting his best look of disapproval, Belnik gave in and thrust the tray out to Bodrin.

“No thank you, but it was kind of you to offer,” Bodrin said. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, placing it on the table as he rose to leave.

“What,” Belnik said, flashing surprise, “You’re not finished with food still within sight, are you?”

Saxthor watched this play out and suddenly realized the two men had created a diversion to get his mind off the prophecy. “Ok you two, that’s enough of that,” Saxthor said.

Belnik put the tray on the table and took a letter from his vest pocket. “I almost forgot. This came for you as I was on my way to the kitchen for your food.” He handed the letter to Saxthor and, taking Bodrin’s napkin, swept crumbs and a bone onto an empty plate to return to the kitchen. “I hope you’ll take me along next time. I’m really not supposed to let you out of my sight. Memlatec will turn me into some reptile if he finds out you got away from me.”

Saxthor looked up at Bodrin and Belnik, both of whom had turned to him, hearing no response to Belnik’s banter.

“What’s wrong?” Bodrin asked.

“Close the door,” Saxthor said, his voice only slightly above a whisper. He felt his muscles tense and a ripple of goose bumps run over his body causing his hair to stand on end. The confidants moved closer to the king. Saxthor looked down at the document and back at the two men. He leaned on the table.