Council of War (28 page)

While Clint conferred with the old man, Karl gazed with admiration at the seamen. He walked over to where they were standing and smiled broadly.

"You men did good with those hatchets," he said. "We will make warriors out of you yet."

"Just wait until we find a ship," retorted Chanz. "We are going to teach you how to climb the mast and repair the rigging."

"Fair enough," chuckled the Knight of Alcea.

* * *

The sun was a huge fiery ball as it rose over the sea. Runt sat on the very top of the main mast and gazed out at the eastern horizon with eagerness. He had a plan in mind and this morning would be the time to put it into action. He had managed to sneak into the captain's cabin and gaze at the sailing chart. If his calculations were correct, he should be able to see a distant island this morning. If he did, he was going to abandon the ship and fly to it. According to the charts, there was a string of islands stretching all the way to the Isles of the Sea off the coast of Alcea. Runt thought he would be able to fly from one island to the next to reach home long before the Zaran ship got there.

That was in theory of course. His backup plan was to reboard the ship if any two of the islands were too far apart, but the crux of the problem was how to tell if the islands were too far apart without trying to reach one and failing to do so. Runt had no answer to that dilemma, but he was not willing to let a simple problem deter his plan. As the sun rose into the sky, the tiny green man saw a bump on the horizon. He leaped into the air and soared upward. When he was high above the Zaran ship, he gazed down to see if anyone had noticed his departure. Confident that he had escaped without detection, Runt aimed for the distant speck of land.

The sky grew dark over the Forest of Death, and Clint McFarren sighed with frustration. His eyes scanned the ever-darkening woods, but he could not find a clearing large enough to serve as a secure campsite for the group of Alceans. He pushed on for another half an hour and finally called a halt. As he stood surveying the area around him, Karl Gree appeared at his side.

"This doesn't look promising," Karl commented.

"It isn't promising at all," replied Clint, "but I haven't found anything suitable for the last two hours. If we continue onward, we will be marching through this forest in total darkness."

"Perhaps that is not as bad an idea as it sounds," interjected Fakir Aziz.

Karl turned and stared at the old philosopher. His brow creased as he tried to read the unspoken words in the eyes of the old man, but he could detect nothing, no fear, no alarm, and no humor. The old man's face was expressionless.

"Are you suggesting that we keep going?" Karl eventually asked.

"I am," nodded Fakir. "I suspect that we are within a day's walk of the Cyranak River. It would be wise for us to keep going and leave the Forest of Death behind us."

Karl glanced questioningly at the Ranger mapmaker.

"He is correct," confirmed Clint. "We should be out of this forest sometime tomorrow, but I am leery about moving through the woods in total darkness."

Karl glanced back along the line of Alceans. The sailors had been carrying most of the supplies, but their packs were practically empty now. Had it not been for the unexpected appearance of Fakir Aziz, they would have run out of food and water days ago. Karl nodded decisively.

"The men have less need for rest than when we lost our mounts," he said to Clint. "Keep the column moving. If we do come across a suitable campsite, we will reevaluate things at that time."

Clint nodded and snapped his fingers to get the attention of the Alceans. He signaled that the column was continuing onward and then turned and started walking north. Karl and Fakir stood to one side to wait for their spots in the column. Karl slid into the middle of the column, and Fakir took the reins to his mule from Max who was bringing up the rear. The old man started fussing with the packs on his mule as Max and Shawn grew impatient as they watched the column moving away.

"Go on ahead with the column," urged Fakir. "I need to adjust these packs. I will follow along in my own good time."

Max and Shawn looked at each other with indecision.

Fakir smiled thinly and shook his head. "I traveled alone before we met," he said to the Rangers, "and I can do so again. Be off with you."

The Rangers glanced at the old man and then at the fading column. Without a word, the two warriors stepped around Fakir and quickened their steps to catch up to the rest of the Alceans. Fakir stood for a few moments facing south. He closed his eyes, and his brow creased with concern.

* * *

The city of Ur was a mixture of the old and the new. Most of the capital city of Tyronia sat in the valley formed by the convergence of the Yio River and Kanton River, but newer parts sat on the side of the hill overlooking the Gulf of Ur that the rivers emptied into. Prominent on that hillside was the Royal Palace of Tyronia with its formal gardens and multitude of balconies overlooking the older city. The palace had been a boyhood vision of King Myer, and he had channeled the interests of his country into fulfilling that dream. Thirty years in the making, the Royal Palace was a tribute to the skill of Tyronian craftsmen, and a showcase for the country's artisans. Modeled after the great castles of the horse countries, some cynically considered it to be King Myer's attempt to emulate the nations of Zarocca, Korocca, and Sirocca.

In truth, the Tyronian king did admire the societies of the horsemen to the east, but he was not foolish enough to believe that Tyronia could ever become one. The Occan people guarded the bloodline of their horses zealously, and while Tyronian horses were of excellent quality, they could never compete when it came to warhorses. Still, King Myer's memories of the days of his youth spent in Korocca had a great influence on his ruling style. He created baronies and awarded titles to citizens who contributed to the overall benefit of Tyronia. He fostered strong patriotism and a desire to contribute to the welfare of all of the people.

After the destruction of Tyronia's pirate fleet in the Needles ages ago, the nation had almost ceased to exist. Their maritime industry ceased to exist, and the city emptied as citizens dispersed and tried to set up farms and fend for themselves. The throne became more of a joke than the seat of the ruler, but a succession of wise kings started to rebuild the nation. King Myer's grandfather helped by encouraging cattle ranching and horse breeding. King Myer's father continued the improvements by encouraging merchants and setting up trading routes by land rather than by sea. Cows and horses became the lifeblood of Tyronia, and a young Prince Myer was sent to Korocca to learn the ways of the horse people.

The prince returned home at a young age when his father died in an accident, and he immediately picked up where his father left off. By most measures, King Myer had been one of the most accomplished kings of Tyronia, but there was one failure that tore at his heart. Prince Mectin, the king's only son, had turned out to be a selfish, arrogant, little snip. King Myer had tried everything that he could think of to turn the prince into a proper ruler, including sending him to other nations to learn the ways of other civilizations. As a youth, Korocca had expelled him after a series of unusual deaths, and Vinafor had politely asked permission to send him home when he was found womanizing and continually drunk. His time spent in Aerta had been meant to teach him the techniques of modern farming, but instead he returned with an attitude that the citizens were his property to do with as he pleased. In a final admission of defeat, King Myer had allowed the prince to move out of the Royal Palace and set himself up in the Old Keep in the center of the city.

The Old Keep was an ancient fortress harking back to the days of the pirates. It was dank, and the air was stale. The corridors were narrow and twisting, resulting in many portions of the castle being kept in continual darkness. In many sections, the stonework was crumbling, and the furniture was brittle with age. Only one section of the Old Keep was maintained with any regularity, and that was the wing holding the quarters of Prince Mectin. The prince's bedchamber was not overly large, but he had taken over a dining hall and converted it into a den of iniquity. Various torture devices littered the floor, and manacles were bolted into the walls. Most of the manacles hung empty, but moans and sobs came from those sets that were attached to the arms of prisoners when Prince Mectin walked into the room. The Prince of Tyronia gazed around the room with a cruel smile on his lips, but his thoughts were interrupted almost immediately. The door to the corridor opened and a soldier stepped into the room.

"You have an unannounced visitor," the soldier stated.

"Not now," scowled Prince Mectin. "Have him come back tomorrow."

"I told him that you were not seeing anyone today," replied the soldier, "but he was most emphatic that I announce him. He is a priest, and he said that he knows you personally from your days in Aerta."

The scowl fell from the prince's face. "K'san?"

"That is his name," nodded the soldier.

"Show him to my study," ordered the prince. "I will be there in a moment."

The soldier retreated to the corridor, and the prince turned around and exited the room through the door to his suite. Prince Mectin shouted orders to his servants and was soon dressed in a Tyronian uniform adorned with numerous medals. A ceremonial royal sash was added, and the prince marched out of the room and into his private study. A tall black man stood waiting for the prince to enter. His cold eyes examined the prince, and a thin smile appeared on his face.

"You look royal," K'san said in way of a greeting.

Prince Mectin closed the door and crossed the room. "It has been a long time, K'san. What brings you to Tyronia?"

"My order has been trying to open a temple in Ur," replied the priest. "Your father keeps foiling our plans. I want your help."

"My help?" balked the prince. "King Myer does not avail himself of my advice. In fact, I have no contact with him at all."

"Does not the Prince of Tyronia have power in his own right?" retorted the priest.

"Not really," replied the prince. "My father has seen to it that I have no power. He does not care for my methods of ruling."

"Then perhaps your father has lived too long," suggested K'san.

Prince Mectin's eyes grew large and his jaw dropped. He turned around to make sure the door was closed and then hurriedly crossed the room to the window.

"You should not say such things, even in jest," the prince said softly.

"I never jest," retorted K'san. "You want the power. I know you well enough to know that. How long are you supposed to live in the shadow of such a weak king?"

"It can't be done," replied the prince. "The king controls the army. All I have are the men within this castle. We wouldn't stand a chance if it came to a revolt."

"Then don't revolt," advised the priest. "Have the king assassinated."

The prince stared out the window for a moment before answering. "Even if I succeeded in having him killed, the generals might suspect that I did it. If they did suspect me, they would not allow me to take the throne."

"Would not allow you?" balked the priest. "The throne is yours by right of birth. Have the generals hanged if they try to stop your ascension."

"Have them hanged?" replied the prince. "Who would I get to do that? The army follows the generals. It is more likely that I would be hanged."

"It would seem that you require some help with your plan to take over the throne," smiled the priest. "It is fortunate for you that I happened to stop by today."

"My plan?" balked the prince. "This whole thing is your idea."

The priest turned away from the prince and casually studied the volumes on the bookshelf. For several minutes a brooding silence hung over the study. The prince knew from his stay in Aerta that such an action showed that K'san was disappointed in him. As the priest was the only person who had ever shown an interest in him, the prince fidgeted with his black goatee during the silence. Finally, he decided to make amends.

"What kind of help can you offer?" asked the prince.

"I can offer you the world," K'san replied as he turned around with a smile on his face, "but I will need something in return."

"What do you need?" asked Prince Mectin.

"I need to set up a temple in Tyronia," declared the priest, "and I need horses, lots of horses."

"Lots of horses?" the prince echoed with concern. "Are these horses for the Federation?"

"Of course," smiled the priest.

"My father has forbidden it," stated the prince. "He refuses to supply war horses to the Federation. Tyronia has an agreement with the horse countries that forbids it."

"That is a mere technicality," replied the priest. "I will set up horse ranches in the southern frontier of Tyronia to buy the horses from the breeders. The ranchers will then sell them to the Federation. No one from Ur will ever journey to the frontier to check on the ranches, so no one will know that the horses have been resold."

"That might work," the prince said as he toyed with his beard, "but someone would discover it sooner or later. Selling horses to the Federation is a hanging offense. My father is adamant about that."

"Ah," smiled the priest, "but your father will not be around for long. In return for the sale of the horses, I can guarantee thousands of Federation soldiers to ensure that you are crowned king."

"Thousands?" Prince Mectin said with surprise. "You have enough standing with the Federation that you can commit to the death of thousands of their soldiers?"

"They will not die," replied the priest. "Their sudden appearance on Tyronian soil will draw the Tyronian army away from Ur. The city will be left with a minimal contingent of soldiers to protect the king and the city. That is when the king will mysteriously die. We only need to find one general who will stay behind and bless your coronation. Once you are king, you can welcome the Federation army into the city. Your unruly generals will be arrested and hanged. End of problem."