Black Kerthon's Doom (31 page)

The journey would be long and they planned to bypass all the towns on their route. Brice had pressed for them to journey to Stormridge, Chraset's home.

"It is far from anywhere else and Chraset will give us shelter."

"What if he's dead?" asked Mira.

"I know his father. We shall be welcomed."

"But it is such a long journey," said Daura. "I can't keep running forever."

"Escort me home," said Neheva. "And I will give you leave to travel through my forest. It will save you days."

"I'm not sure," said Brice.

"Of course we will," said Mira. She shook her head at Brice. "Your time with us hasn't dampened his fear of you."

"He is smarter than you think, Mira. I am governed by moods and needs you cannot understand. It was only by a stroke of chance that I didn't kill you all on that first day."

"You aren't that cold-hearted, are you?" asked Mira.

Neheva just stared at her.

"Night comes."

Scithers left the courtyard and found that the soldiers had fled. When the stone was crushed, the power of Kerthon vanished and the spell, which had held them enthralled, dissipated and their eyes became clear once more. So it was only a tall solitary figure that walked through the gate of the castle which had once been his and his master's home.

Scithers had recovered enough of the stone to believe he could use a spell to restore it and allow Kerthon to return. But he would have to get to the tower to perform the spell.

He had heard the departing soldiers talk of a dark shadow which walked through the corridors of Moorld. But Kerthon had not entered. Still, Scithers had felt a potent presence also and it was not unlike his Master's. Perhaps the foolish Gareth had decided to claim his birthright like his father before him. There would be another to pay homage to Wargat, the Demon. Scithers chuckled to himself. Perhaps he should be ready for visitors. It was unlikely that Gareth would not come to the tower. It was the only place that could teach Gareth what he needed to know. Only he would not want to know what he would learn there. And the choice would not be his.

Chraset ran down the stone steps, his knees jarred by the impact of the hard stone. He could hear the soldiers trailing him and he pressed on. The steps ended and he found himself in a large room lined with crates. There were three exits; two, which appeared to go to lower levels, and one that rose to the other side of the castle. Quickly, he looked around the room. There was no sign of the passage of the others; Gareth must be on his way to join them. Chraset had chosen the wrong passage. He gritted his teeth and ran to the stairs going to the upper levels. He did not know where he would end up but he still felt strong and hoped to increase the distance between the pursuing soldiers and himself.

The stairs ran straight up and did not change direction until he was three levels higher and then he glanced downward and then sped on his way. He did not see any pursuit but he would not rest until he was out of the castle. He hoped the others would get away and if they did, it was possible Kerthon would turn Moorld upside down looking for any remaining rebels. Chraset wanted to be far away by then.

He reached one of the battlements without being seen. The drop to the ground beyond the wall was fifteen feet and he felt he could survive the attempt. He crept to the place that provided the best landing on mossy grass. He heard the drumming of feet as soldiers fanned out through the courtyards and corridors of the castle. Chraset remained motionless, listening to the movement around him. There were voices on his level. He backed into the shadows just as a soldier ran past. He waited a moment, and then exhaled. He moved forward quickly, reaching for the top of the battlement. Even as his fingers touched the cold stone, the sound of boots stopped him. Suddenly, there was the ring of a sword being drawn and he turned to find a Calendian soldier facing him.

Chraset drew his sword and waited for his opponent to approach but the soldier stood his ground. There was the sound of movement in the guardhouse and three more armed men appeared. Now, the first Calendian soldier began to advance.

Chraset quickly engaged him and their swords rang. He thrust downward and then flicked his sword upward, the blood trickled from the man's face, and it startled him. It gave Chraset the opening he needed and he ran the man through.

A second soldier struck Chraset on the shoulder but it was a glancing blow that barely drew blood. Chraset was too close for a thrust of his sword so he lunged into the soldier and bulled him backward against the stone wall. The soldier pushed him away, jabbing his sword at Chraset, who parried the stroke. Chraset kicked the soldier in the shin, swiping with his sword, slicing the shoulder of his opponent. His left fist slammed into the man's gut, the soldier gasped for breath, and Chraset dispatched him.

The others had not yet drawn their swords and he leapt to the wall and jumped down. He landed roughly and rolled. He was uninjured and got to his feet and began running to the coast. He knew a spot where he could skirt the coastline around the mountains. He would not offer the wild people a second chance at him.

An arrow tore at his sleeve but he veered sharply out of range and ran among the brush and bushes that could still grow so close to blighted Moorld. He found the path down to the shore and did not spare more than a glance backward before beginning his decent. On Gareth's request, Chraset had scouted much of the area around Moorld, especially the areas that had eluded Brice on his wanderings. Chraset's life might be spared by his knowledge of the area but it gave him little satisfaction without knowing Gareth's fate.

The sea rolled up over the breakers and the gulls wandered over the sand and rocks crying out in their voices of longing. Chraset remembered that Macelan loved the sea and wondered how the young man had ended up as he did. It would have been fortunate for Gareth, had Macelan proved to be adept at sorcery, but Chraset's old friend had been backed into a corner and the future in sorcery was bleak. Chraset had seen the shadowy figure that had materialized next to Kerthon. It was a demon, as Gareth had predicted many years before. Sorcery had been taught to man by demons. Gareth had been correct to resist, but now he had to attempt his sorcery or Kerthon and the demon would control the land. It was a no win situation because the odds did not favor Gareth keeping out of reach of the demons. Sorcery would pull him to them.

Chraset did not know what Gareth would do if he survived to escape from Moorld. Chraset wanted to go to Nantitet and be sure there was no trace of a relationship between Gareth and himself. With Ransal as High King, Chraset had great influence in the court and he wanted to solidify his relationship with the young High King before returning to Stormridge.

He saw no one on his journey along the coast. He stopped in Mayse and purchased a bath, hot meal and had his clothes laundered.

Two days later, he was in the palace at Nantitet. His quarters had been untouched and he searched for any connection to the High King. There was none and he did not expect to find any, but he had to be sure. Careless would cost him his life. He had never written anything down and had accepted no gifts from Ransal. It would be up to Ransal. The High King had the power to convict him without evidence and Chraset was not sure what thoughts floated through Ransal's mind. It was a chance he would have to take. Would the boy desire to cover all traces to his father's murder? There were whispers of Ransal's involvement -- he might want a scope-goat.

Ransal had lain down to rest for the afternoon. He was very excited about being High King but he made an effort to move slowly and make changes one at a time. Although he was the heir, he knew the people of Nantitet and the Empire would take a 'wait and see' attitude towards him. He had decided to roll back his father's latest tithe requests but not as far as they had originally been. He did not want to lose the revenue. He did not yet know where the Empire's economy stood. He had not understood the numbers the ministers had told him and Mulane had promised to discuss them with him at some other time.

Mulane was as reliable as Ransal's father had told him. But what about his counterpart, Didran? Ransal's father had said nothing about him, but Didran was even more helpful than Mulane. And certainly more polite. However, Mulane did not hide his feelings. Was Didran hiding anything?

Ransal could not describe the relief he felt when the black figure of Kerthon had disappeared. It almost paralleled the astonishment he experienced when Kaell transformed into the Sorcerer. He had seized the opportunity to order all the soldiers to return to Nantitet and they set off at once. Ransal had to fight the urge to look behind them to see if Kerthon or the eerie Scithers were following but he knew he was being judged by the soldiers and he did not want to appear frightened. He kept them moving at a constant pace; he did not rush them but he did not let them tarry. Prudent would be his first days as High King.

"Your Highness, we must address these issues."

"I told you, Percil, that we will speak tomorrow. I wish to rest now. Come back mid-day."

"But your highness!"

"Enough! Do you think me merely a boy?"

Percil's face whitened. "No, no. You are my High King. I shall return tomorrow."

"Excellent. Dismissed."

He drifted off to a doze and felt the gentle breeze come through the open window. Vaguely, he realized that the window was shut when he came in the room, but he was too tired to think more about it.

"Congratulations, your Highness," said Chraset, stepping from the heavy drapery.

"Who?" Ransal sat up with a start. "Oh, it's you. Where have you been?" He reached for his sword next to him on the bed, but it was not there. Chraset pointed to the corner where the blade leaned against the wall. He smiled at the High King. Ransal forced a sick grin knowing he could not reach the sword in time.

"Keeping out of the way of Kerthon. I hid deep and far. I took no chances."

"I see. Well, I am High King. Your contributions have greatly helped me." He looked around for another weapon, but there was none. Chraset made certain of that.

"It was nothing, your Highness."

"Only as far as everyone else is concerned, it was nothing. But I am grateful and you shall be rewarded. You only have to name the price." He inched back toward the headboard of the bed.

"I think your Highness had picked the wrong basis for a friendship. Money is useful but it cannot buy friends. There are no guarantees that your money is the best. A little trust and good words provide a steadier anchor for friendship."

"Do you really think so?" asked Ransal.

"Let's say that you should not fully trust anyone who has been drawn to your service by your coin alone."

Ransal watched Chraset intently, then sighed, and laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. There was a knock. Ransal motioned Chraset back behind the curtain. Chraset put his hand on his sword as he retreated. Mulane entered, looking around the room.

"My pardons, High King. I thought I heard voices."

Ransal spoke slowly trying to find something adequate to tell Mulane forestalling his suspicions. "I was ah, just ah, talking. To my father. Asking his advice."

"Oh, I see." Mulane's face reddened. "Pardon me for interrupting. I merely wished to report that the castle is secure to my satisfaction. None of the wizard's henchmen remain."

"Good work, Mulane. It is obvious why my father trusted you so much. Continue to keep me informed."

"Yes, High King." He bowed and left.

Chraset reappeared.

"You have been a good friend to me, Chraset. But I have a hunch that you are not a gardener."

"Do you not admire my work? I think it looks far better than when I came, especially the roses."

"I meant as your true calling. Who are you?"

"Martres of Stormridge."

"Lord Martres?" Ransal's mouth hung open.

"Yes."

"Why? What have you been up to?"

"Very simply, I've been working with Gareth to insure your rightful claim to the throne."

"Gareth? Didn't he want the throne himself?"

"No. He just wanted your father off the throne. Michak was not good to this land and his people. Change was required. You were the one to rule. The Empire demanded it."

"You used me." His tone was not sharp, rather, it was weary.

"No. I helped you and I do not ask anything for myself. Be a just ruler and I shall be satisfied. I will speak plainly, the task before you is daunting. It will be easy to be the ruler your father was, but you must set your goals much higher."

Ransal nodded, trying to grasp the significance of the alliances.

"Do you return to Stormridge?"

"I must. My father is ailing and needs my support."

"I am jealous of you and your relationship with your father. It feels like a knife in my stomach."

"Be the father you needed for your own children and the knife will go away."

Again, silence.

"I shall remember your words. Will you return again?"

"I may. Please come visit me."

Pause.

"I will."

Chraset left by the window and High King Ransal felt the bittersweet parting of friendship, if only for a time.

He saw the change come over Macelan's face, the thinning of the lips, and the pallor of the skin and the darkening of the eyes. Gareth's heart went cold. Macelan seemed to move in slow motion, triggering the door release. Gareth started to shout, but no words came out. He knew the look of sorcery, seeing it on Macelan's face. He nearly cried out, trying to call up his own power but it was too late. The door slid shut and Gareth was trapped. At a sound, he turned and dove out of the reach of a soldier's blade. The soldier turned and came toward him while others entered the room behind him. Gareth looked at his opponents and time seemed to stand still. His life danced before his eyes and he knew he was near death. Not physical death, but the spiritual death which sorcery would bring. He would be another slave to the power, demons eating away his soul. But his work was not finished and it angered him; all his efforts were for nothing. Nothing! Everything went blue for an instant. He shouted in pain, feeling himself being pulled inside out and then there was a release. When his vision cleared, the room was full of dead men, stream rising from their bodies. He had used sorcery and he could feel the hot rancid breath of the demon on his shoulder. His eyes filled with tears. It had been so easy. So easy. He could be High King already, if only he had used his power. It was his fault, this fleeing from Kerthon's army. He could have destroyed the High King. He could have even destroyed the Sorcerer King before he assumed Kaell's form, while still gathering his power. Gareth could have ruled with uncontested power. Now, there was only one thing left to do.