Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild (50 page)

Reaching the bottom of the ladder, she gave it a hard upward shove and the solid stone false-wall of the closet above rotated back around. She heard the distinct click of the locks seal it in place mere seconds before the Trolls managed to hack their way into the small room.

Not waiting a second, she raced away in the darkness, silently thanking her Emperor for having had the wherewithal to make her practice this escape at least a dozen times since she had worked for him. In exactly fourteen paces she gave a mighty leap over a large hole in the floor, hidden in the shadows beneath her feet, at the bottom of which projected large iron spikes, placed there to impale any would-be pursuers. In ten more she groped for and released a raised metal latch on the sidewall of the tunnel. Another secret panel opened before her and closed behind her after she had passed through. Down a second ladder she scrambled. The young Prince threatened to spill right out of her blouse, and she roughly shoved him back in. Across a landing she raced and scuttled down a third ladder, disguised by five others, all of which lead to blind ends. Again she forcefully shoved upwards on the end of it, tripping the latches, which converted her escape route into yet another blind end. She ducked through the sliding stone just before it sealed shut behind her and paused to catch her breath. She could see a light now, and knew if she held up she had a very good chance of escaping. Off she ran. In a matter of minutes she had cleared the castle walls on a dead run. She knew she would be frozen to death if she did not seek shelter soon from the night drop in temperature, so she never broke stride for her entire sprint through the tunnel. Halfway to the end she found the ladder she was looking for and up she went. She waited for several minutes at the top of it, listening for any sounds that might tell her that there were Trolls above her. Hearing none, and badly in danger of succumbing to unconsciousness due to the biting cold, she finally gave the secret knock. She held her breath. The trap door above her slid silently open. Climbing out, she fell into the arms of her mother, who flashed her the all-clear sign. She had made it. The Prince was saved, for now at least. Her mother led her to a small bed across the room, where she mercifully collapsed from sheer exhaustion and slept for the better part of an hour. The Prince had never awakened through the entire escape.

After her short nap, her mother forcibly shook her awake. “Norma,” she said, “Norma Webb. You wake up this instant. There is no time for dillydallying. Up now!”

Slowly, she awoke. Still partially numbed from the cold that had worked its way deep into her bones, she rubbed at her arms. She could hear her mother pleading with her, but her voice sounded very far away. “The Prince!” she thought, forcing herself out of the fog. “Where is the Prince?” she called out.

“He is safe. He is with your sister next door. You will leave for Queen’s Port tonight. Now. I have packed you what you need. The Trolls have come and gone, but they will be back.”

“The Trolls came while I was here?”

“No. They came before you got here. I convinced them that I had not seen you. Their methods were … persuasive … ”

“Oh Mama,” she said. “Did they hurt you badly?”

“Nothing I won’t recover from,” she replied. “Thankfully, I was telling the truth, but the next time won’t be as easy.”

“Queen’s Port,” muttered Norma. “We’ll never make it. We’ll freeze to death. It’s an impossible journey.”

“There’s no arguing the risk,” said Mama Webb, “but the alternative is sure death to all of us. Off you go. Get your things. They are by the door. Go to your sister’s without delay.”

“But Mama,” she cried, “What will happen to you?”

“Don’t you worry about me,” said Mama Webb. “When those brutes return to have their fun with me, they will be interrogating an empty house. This is
our
land. There are places I could hide undiscovered for an entire lifetime. But if you don’t know where I am, you can’t tell anybody who might want to know. Go now, girl.”

They hugged for a brief moment, Mama Webb pushing her towards the door even as they embraced.

Out the door she flew, wearing a strange coat, the like of which she had never seen. It had huge pockets on the outside and equally huge inner pockets that were lined with a substance that felt like braided hair of some sort.

Already bitter cold from the frigid night air, she tapped three times on the door, then a fourth. A large Gnome she had never met opened it. He wore the uniform of the Palace Elite Guard. She glanced him up and down warily. “Where is the Prince?” she demanded, then, “Who are you?”

“Next room,” he answered. “They are waiting for you. My name is Turman Pandieth. I was the head of the Palace Elite. That was then. Now,” he smiled a grim smile, “I am dead, at least as far as those murderous dogs are concerned. We’ll see how well they get along with my ghost. But that is for later. For now, we journey to Queen’s Port.”

They moved to the next room where the Prince remained asleep in the arms of her sister, Turni.

They embraced quickly while Turman Pandieth prepared them for the trip.

“Remove your coat,” he said. From the way he said it, it was obvious that he was a Gnome that was used to giving orders. He filled the oversized inner, then outer, pockets with a wood-like substance, then extracted some coals from the fire, placing a few in each inner pocket.

“This will keep us warm, well, not warm really, but warm enough. The stuff in the pockets is a mixture made from Burnfast. It won’t go out as long as you remember to feed the inner pockets with the stuff in the outer pockets. There is enough to last for the first leg of the journey. Preparations are underway to place more at points along the way. Now, we go.”

“How do we know when it’s time to add more?” asked Norma.

He smiled the same grim smile. “When our teeth begin to chatter. Don’t forget this. Once your teeth begin to chatter, you are minutes away from losing consciousness. Add a small handful to each inner pocket, and you’ll be okay.”

Out the back they slipped. As soon as they were outside, they were joined by three other Gnomes who led the way. Turman Pandieth stayed behind to cover their tracks. He could no longer save his lifelong friend, and Emperor, Hanz Night, but as sure as the Old One made the crops grow, he would safely spirit his son away. Or die trying. His only concern was the time it would take. Because when the trip was over, he had his friend’s death to avenge.

Chapter 18

Suddenly, he recognized him. It had nothing to do with the nature of his gaze, nor the presence or absence of fear in his eyes. He knew this Troll. He had met him before. He couldn’t remember when, or where, but he knew him. There was no doubt. He suddenly wished that he wasn’t as intoxicated, that his head was clearer and would quit pounding.

“I know you,” he found himself saying. “We have met before. Now what is this message that is going to save my life, and it had better be something I need to hear, or you will rue this day.”

“Oh, it is,” said Forrester. He kept his voice steady, his delivery unrushed. “My name is Forrester Wiley Ragamund. Remember it.

“The message is simple. I am going to let you live today. I can’t promise that this will be the case the next time we meet, but for today your life is spared.”

Malance was so surprised that his jaw went slack for a second, after which he bellowed for the guards who jumped up to respond. Wearing a smug look, the Emperor turned back towards Forrester, who plainly and simply vanished.

Saviar Murlis walked home from the castle in Vultura feeling that, most likely, he would never arrive there. They had killed the Emperor right in front of him. Certain that he would be next, he left the fortress via tunnels the Trolls probably hadn’t discovered yet. He was resigned to the fact that he would certainly die before sunup the next morning, so he wanted to spend his last evening in the company of his wife and children. There was much he wanted to say to them.

Besides, with Hanz Night gone, organizing and effecting a revolution would now prove next to impossible. For Saviar Murlis, despite being a creative genius, as well as having outstanding organizational skills, had none of his former Emperor’s charisma. And charisma, not ideas, was what moved the masses. You could have the best ideas imaginable, but if you didn’t have the magnetism to rally the forces behind you, those ideas were dead before they were ever born.

Like, for instance, the Gnome children’s learning/recreation center. In order to fund the expenses necessary to staff it such that the working folks could have their youngsters cared for until they picked them up after work, Hanz Night had convinced one of the wealthy wheat growers to voluntarily up his annual tax from two to three percent. And the fellow had been happy to do it. The idea had been Saviar’s, but the task of convincing the wheat farmer had befallen Hanz, who practically had to talk the farmer out of an increase of
four
percent.
That
was charisma.

He awoke from his walking reverie to the sound of dogs growling viciously nearby. He saw with revulsion that they were fighting over the rights to gnaw on the corpse of a dead Gnome sprawled facedown on the street. “Go on!” he hollered. He picked up a rock and hurled it at them, striking the nearest one squarely in the flank. With a brief howl, it slinked off. The others followed.

He looked around at what had been his lovely capital city. Days before, it had been clean and orderly. Rows of well-maintained houses, with manicured lawns and trimmed hedges, lined the cobblestone streets that were swept clean on a daily basis. Now it was a city torn apart. Everywhere he looked, houses had been ransacked. Doors hung ajar. Windows were broken. Furniture and assorted household items, smashed beyond recognition, lay strewn on the once proud lawns. Garbage, once picked up twice a week, was now tossed all about. The smell was one of putrefaction and decay.

He hurried along now, more anxious than ever to be with his family. It was a short walk, and still only early afternoon, but he was chilled to the core when he pushed open his front door. He was immediately besieged by his three children with cries of, “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” He hugged them all fiercely, and under their attack they all ended up falling to the floor in a jumble of knees and elbows. Kerlix entered from the kitchen, holding a large spoon. “Hey, hey,” she said, “Let your father at least get in the door.”

Saviar Murlis, former Personal Advisor to the now-deceased Emperor of the Gnome nation of Vultura, suddenly resented every moment he had ever spent away from them.

Miano, his six-year old boy, and Fabindora, his five-year old girl, disentangled themselves from his legs and stood. Jori, his two-year old boy, had wrapped his little arms around his father’s neck in an embrace that he was clearly not going to surrender. Saviar managed to stand, with little Jori hanging on for dear life, and made his way to the bedroom where he flung the toddler onto the bed and jumped on top of him. They rolled about for a few minutes while Saviar tickled and kissed him on the neck, making loud fart noises that caused him to howl with delight. Miano and Fabindora joined in the fray, and within seconds everyone was laughing and rolling all about. “My innocent children,” he thought. “The kingdom is lost. Our city is in ruins. The Emperor has been murdered, and yet here we are … ”

In a couple of minutes the energetic display had settled down, and they were all merely holding each other.

“Daddy,” said Miano, “what’s going to happen to us? Mommy says that the Trolls killed Emperor Night. Did they really?”

Saviar thought for a moment and then said, “We’re going to be all right. Yes. The Trolls killed Emperor Night. That was terribly wrong of them. That was a very, very bad thing.”

“I hate them,” said Miano. “I really liked Emperor Night. He was always nice to us. Why did they have to kill him?”

“Yes, Father,” chimed in Fabindora. “Why
did
they have to kill him? He
was
nice. Why would they kill such a nice Gnome?”

Saviar sat up on the bed, leaning his back up against the headboard. His children all battled for a position on his lap. All somehow won.

“Well,” he said slowly, “it’s like this. The Trolls are not like us. They have different rules. But they have taken over our country now, and we have to do what they want, or else. Our lives are not ours any more. We kind of, like, belong to them, and so they can tell us what to do, any time they want, and we have to do it. It’s awful, but that’s the way it is, and for right now, we can’t change it.”