The Powterosian War (Book 5) (8 page)

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Summon General Bor. Those rock dwarves must break through the Hador passage. We must break Graushdem before that kingdom can mount a serious defense. And General Tarquak is trying to evade me. We sense his movements around Sengenwha. He forgets I recreated him with my own essence. I know his every move. There’s no place that he can hide. We must make an example of him to the other generals.”

“Send for the fleet admiral, it’s time to bring the griffins from Tixos to aid in the attacks on the South. Those winged, beaked terrors should break Graushdemheimer’s confidence and resolve. And I’ve another task for the admiral as well.”

Smegdor returned to his cramped niche in the tunnel wall to issue the orders for the admiral and General Bor. He dispatched messengers that day.

The admiral sailed to Tixos and with a Goblin atop a lesser dragon to round up the griffins, returned to Dreaddrac with two dozen of the creatures constrained in the cargo ships. Upon release, the goblin on his winged mount led the beaked beasts through the edge of the Edros swamp to the Akkin River at Feldrik Fortress.

* * *

“What’s that?” a sentry high in Feldrik’s western tower yelled. He remembered himself and blew a warning on his horn. He didn’t take his eyes off the flock of unknown bird-beasts that flew over the river and landed behind the orc contingents surrounding the fortress. The orcs scattered every which way, but the griffins didn’t attack them. The Goblin on the lesser dragon herded the griffins into a controlled flock, fluttering about like excited flamingos. The orcs and men rushed up to the walls, staring in awe at the mass of strange bird-beasts that clicked and clacked their beaks. They stamped around as if stomping something to death in frustration.

Feldrik Fortress’ old commanding general came to the sentry tower to see the cause of the horn blasting. He stood, scratching his head, mesmerized by the flock. The rest of the garrison lined the walls, ramparts, and turrets of the fortress to see the never before seen sight.

“They going to attack us, General?” the sentry asked.

“I don’t know, son,” the old man said, watching the flock. He pulled on his impressive mustache. “Looks like they’re being herded someplace else. See the goblin on the dragon; they’re up to something. I better send a warning to Heggolstockin.”

“I’ll get a homing pigeon, sir,” the guard said.

“No, don’t leave your post, son. Aide, bring me paper and a pigeon.”

The aide disappeared and quickly returned with the required items. The general wrote out a warning to the duke that these bird-beast things might be heading his way.

“Mightn’t it be better to wait and see where they’re heading, Sir?” the aide asked and the sentry nodded.

“We’ve no way of telling if they’re heading to Heggolstockin or Graushdemheimer,” the general said. He tied the small, rolled note to the homing pigeon’s leg and threw it into the air. It circled the fortress twice and flew off toward Heggolstockin, but as it passed over the flock of griffins, two flew up. The first to the quarry snapped its beak, swallowing the pigeon in one gulp without missing a wing beat and returned to the griffin flock.

The general leaned forward with both hands on the railing. He lowered his head.

“I guess it doesn’t much matter which direction they’re going anyway,” the sentry said.

“Keep an eye on them and notify me if they move in any direction,” the general said. He started back down the tower stairs. The aide shrugged his shoulders. With a nervous smiling glance at the sentry, he followed the general back down inside the fortress.

The griffins calmed after a while and began to scratch about among the corpses, scattered around the plain before Feldrik. They pecked the flesh off the bones. It was a gruesome sight and the sentry felt nauseous watching it.

The next morning, the same sentry was again back at his post. After what must have been a conference with Pindradese, the goblin mounted his dragon and flew around the fortress. The frightened archers on the battlements shot arrows at the lesser dragon, but it flamed any that flew too near it. The goblin circled the fortress several times then back to the griffins. He rounded them up and herded his charges to the east. As they were leaving, the sentry rushed back down the tower stairs to inform the commander of the change. He was on an eastern wall tower watching them recede in the distance.

“Glad they didn’t attack us here,” the sentry said.

“Where ever they’re heading, it’s going to be ugly when that lot attacks,” the general mumbled, stroking his beard. He looked at the sentry. “Better get back to your post; it’s going to be another long day.”

The sentry went back to the highest tower to resume his watch. Prince Pindradese rode behind his disgruntled army, threatening them to press the siege. Again that day, they didn’t attack but kept Feldrik locked down, its garrison unable to destroy Pindradese or relieve the siege at the capital.

“What’s that, I wonder? Looks like a woman riding beside Prince Pindradese?” the sentry mumbled, pointing to the sight for his counterpart.

“That must be Lady Demonica we were warned about,” the other sentry said, shaking his head. “She’s gone over to their side. I bet that broke the duke’s heart.”

“Lost both son and daughter, one right after the other.”

Both shook their heads and resumed their watch in silence.

* * *

After dropping off the griffins on the shore at Dreaddrac, the Dreaddrac admiral had turned his war galleys south. With only a few cargo vessels for supplies, he set sail down the Tixosian Sea toward Olnak.

* * *

General Bor left the Munattahensenhov as strained as a rock creature could be. He hurried back to his army huddled in the tunnel below the Hador pass.

“We got to open this passage and fast,” Bor told his aide immediately upon arrival. The king says General Vylvex is cut off and will soon run out of supplies if we don’t get more of them orcs and supplies through this tunnel.”

“We’ve been working at it since them sneaky dwarves turned that there whingtang to granite,” the aide said.

“Where’re we now?” Bor asked.

“They’re half way through the shaft, maybe a bit more. We gots to move all that mud and rock someplace. We can’t move it outside during daylight. It’s slow going.”

“Well, we better get on with it. The king is impatient. We’ll all be crushed gravel under a road bed soon if we don’t get this tunnel open.”

* * *

Up above in Hador, Duke Jedrac sat on his ducal throne in the all but empty audience hall with Wizard Hendrel. Torches flickered eerily on the walls, casting dark shadowy movements in the deserted chamber.

“Being cut off from everything is maddening,” Jedrac said. He looked at Hendrel. “I suppose you know we’re running out of arrows to defend the city with, against an eventual orc attack. The garrison commander has asked citizens to contribute any straight wood that we could make into arrows, but that won’t go far. We’ll be tearing out wood from buildings soon.”

“You must conserve the arrows. They do no good against the rock-dwarves.”

“I’m disgusted that, in this crisis, we’re cut off and useless when the king needs our aid most,” Jedrac said. He rubbed his brow hard leaving white, then red finger trails on his forehead. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“All we have is a good supply of rock,” Hendrel mumbled.

“I have the best minds in the city working on how we can get off the mountain and send troops to battle the orcs when the rock-dwarves break through the debris in the tunnel. We don’t have enough soldiers to battle an army. We can delay and diminish them as they come through the passageway for a while, if we can get down off the mountain.”

“Any ideas so far?” Hendrel asked.

“The best craftsmen are building a few boats to cross the lowered lake. We still have no solution to getting the soldiers down to the lake level in any numbers. Repelling isn’t likely to work for a legion.” For a moment, Jedrac laughed but stopped when Hendrel, deep in thought, didn’t laugh as well. “It seems we’re marooned here, unable to help in the war effort at all.”

“Perhaps there’s something we could do to delay the tunnel opening,” Hendrel said. “It would risk an attack up through the mountain, but that would be checked by the shaft’s narrow limitations.”

“What’re you proposing?”

“We should remove the debris blocking the shaft. With that, we could use mirrors to reflect the sunlight down there and turn the rock-dwarves to stone until they catch on. We’d risk a counter attack by the orcs, but they could only come up the stairs one at a time and we could easily kill such attackers.”

“I’ll order the shaft cleared,” the duke said. “At least it’s something. It would delay reinforcements getting to General Vylvex at Graushdemheimer.”

“You’d better hurry. From the sound of the dwarves working below; they’re nearly two thirds the way back through the mountain.”

Saxthor Learns of Dreaddrac’s Fleet Approaching

Memlatec looked at Saxthor’s message, his boney fingers rubbing the paper for any emotion left on it. The message requested the wizard to direct Chatra Rakmar to send an official with a formal request for assistance to Saxthor’s distant cousin, the Emperor Engwan IV at Engwaniria. That was the capital of the Powterosian Empire on Neuyokkasin’s southern border.

“How are we to do that?” Memlatec mused, descending the tower stairs. He rode to Konnotan and searched out Chatra Rakmar in his offices in Helshian Court Palace.

Rakmar read the letter over twice and looked at Memlatec. “What shall we do? We both know there has been little communication from the empire and none from our ambassador.”

“Have you sent correspondence to the ambassador?” Memlatec asked, pretending not to know of the border closure.

“Nothing in, nothing out,” Rakmar said, his head cocked and eye fixed on Memlatec.

We both have our sources, thought Memlatec, but Rakmar fails to share his information. The chatra’s jealousy and rivalry have grown since Saxthor left me coregent in his absence. He ignored the mysterious look.

“The war in the north must be going badly if Saxthor is now formally asking for the Powterosian Empire’s support,” Memlatec said. “Relations between the emperor and King Saxthor have cooled since Saxthor’s ascension to the throne over his brother Augusteros, who has refused to return from Engwaniria.”

“Pardon the intrusion, Chatra, Court Wizard, but that man from the empire is back. He’s asking to see you immediately before his return,” an aide said, knocking and sticking his head in the door.

“Tell him to go away,” the chatra said. “I’m in a meeting.”

“Let’s hear what he has to say, Rakmar,” Memlatec said. “If this man is from the empire, he may know something of what’s going on there.”

Rakmar sighed and nodded to the secretary. The assistant announced the man to the room. He entered, hat in hand, and bowed to chatra and wizard.

“You’ve interrupted a private audience,” Rakmar said standing. His face was red and features pinched. He puffed up his chest and crossed his arms in front of him.

“From the empire,” Memlatec said, looking the man over. “Let’s hear him out.” He smiled at the Powterosian who twitched, fumbling with his hat.

Rakmar slowly sat back down, glanced at Memlatec, and then resumed his stare at the intruder. “Say what you have to say and leave.”

The man’s ragged appearance suggests he’s had a rough trip to Konnotan, Memlatec surmised. His clothing is good and relatively new with no worn seams but torn and dirty from the journey. His hair is neatly cut, yet tangled and matted. Scrapes on his hands and mud on his boots suggests he’s kept off the main roads and traveled through rough country to get here. He’s just arrived recently, probably earlier in the day.

“In my village, we don’ts understand why we can’t trade across the border as always,” the man said, shaking his head first at the chatra and then nodding to the tall, thin man beside him.

“We’ve done nothing to stop trade,” Rakmar said. “Products from the empire have always been welcome in Neuyokkasin.”

“I asked to see you this morning, Your Worship. I told that secretary man out there this morning it was most important I see you about the border closing,” the man looked puzzled that the chatra seemed unfamiliar with the news. “We in the village hope you ain’t taking it out on us that the prince is dead.”

“Border closing? Prince dead?” Memlatec repeated, moving a step closer to hear the petitioner better.

“What are you talking about man,” Rakmar said, his tone strained.

“The word is that the Neuyokkasinian Prince Augusteros was married to the Princess Imperial only the day before he died from a riding accident. No one’s sure. It ain’t been posted in the villages yet, but rumors have been circulating for a month now. Then, they come and closed the border. We didn’t have nothing to do with an accident.” The man shifted from one foot to the other looking back and forth to the two men with pleading eyes.

“They who?” Memlatec asked. He fixed his eye on the man’s face that glanced up at the violet-eyed wizard and turned red.

“The soldiers, they come by on the way to the border. Now we can’t sell our grain to nobody but the emperor’s agent at low prices. It ain’t fair.” He nodded to both men. “Ain’t no goods come from Neuyokkasin anymore neither. My neighbor Jenk said we ought to come find out what’s amiss. The soldiers won’t tell us nothing. We need to sell our farm goods south, too. We thought maybe the King Saxthor might be mad with us across the border. We didn’t have nothing to do with it.”

The chatra looked at the wizard. Both turned to the man who stood looking back and forth at the two learned men for some response.

“That will be all,” Rakmar said.” The man lowered his hat to his side, slumped, and turned to go.

“One moment, sir,” Memlatec said. “How did you come to get so muddy and your garments torn?”

The man turned back to him. “When I started out walking to Neuyokkasin, one of the soldiers stationed in our village passed me south of the village with my traveling stuff in a bundle. He stopped me, asked where was I heading. When I told him, he got all excited and grabbed my arm. He told me he was going to lock me up. I asked him what for and he said no one was permitted to cross the border. I tell you it scared me. I jerked loose and ran into the brambles and stayed out of sight all the way here.”

“We’ll look into the trade and border issues. That will be all,” Rakmar said again. He rang for the secretary to remove the man from the room.

When the Powterosian was gone and the door closed again, Memlatec stared down at Rakmar. “You knew of this earlier?” Memlatec said.

“I had some inkling, hadn’t spoken with the man before just now. Only knew of it through the secretary.”

“Do not withhold information from me again, Rakmar,” Memlatec warned.

“I’ve not had time to question the man much less to send reports to you, wizard.”

Memlatec looked to the door, analyzing the man’s information, then looked back at the chatra. Rakmar sank back down into his chair; his face hardened. The minister wouldn’t look into the wizard’s eyes.

“Prince Augusteros dead, and married to the imperial princess on his deathbed, what do you make of it, Memlatec?” Rakmar asked. “How could Prince Augusteros have an accident, marry, and die without any mention to Neuyokkasin? Why close the border? Do you suppose the emperor fears we will declare war over Prince Augusteros’ death?”

“I’ve not made anything of it, yet,” the wizard said. He left the palace and returned to his tower.

“How was your trip?” Aleman asked, taking the wizard’s cloak.

“Enlightening and yet not.” Memlatec started up the stairs, mumbling. “The world is changing once again, I think.”

* * *

In Graushdemheimer, people swarmed through the streets not speaking, looking down, focused on the tasks that forced them outside the security of their homes. Most shops were closed. Those abroad carried bundles of this and that. No one noticed strangers among them in these times of siege.

Though they had no goods, two men dressed as merchants in obscure, neutral-colored traveling clothes kept to themselves as they moved through the narrow, curving streets. Here and there they asked directions to the palace and moved on quickly. They took seats in an open restaurant across the street from the principal palace gate, watching those coming and going from the citadel while sipping tea.

*

Queen Nonee rushed through the halls of Graushdemheimer’s royal palace, organizing the city’s support systems. She never looked more radiant; marriage had developed her womanhood. Her pregnancy showed only slightly beneath the elegant gown that flowed over her like a warm summer breeze. She concluded her arrangements there and left the palace to find King Grekenbach at the western fortress barracks. As she left the palace with her guards, the people bowed deeply to the much loved queen.

*

“Would that be the renowned Queen Nonee?” one of the merchants asked the waiter in passing.

“Indeed it is, sir” the waiter said, stopping to look at the beautiful queen. He gazed long and sighed. When she had passed out of sight, the man looked back at the customer. “That is our beloved queen.” He glanced back to where she was last seen, his smile spreading soothingly over his face for an instant and then he moved on, taking food to another customer.

The men paid their bill and disappeared into the throng moving along the street.

“We must buy some cloth samples as planned,” the leader of the two said. With their goods, they returned to the palace.

“The queen can buy any cloth she likes in the market place; be gone,” the senior guard at the palace gate said.

“But you must allow us to enter,” pleaded the leading merchant, bowing repeatedly. Just look at these bolts of cloth. Have your ever seen such fabric?” he said, taking a bolt from his assistant and pulling back the wrapping paper to display the material. He beamed a full smile at the guard, keeping his stance bowed to reinforce the guard’s sense of importance. “We must be allowed to enter and show these to the queen. She will be furious with you if she finds we’ve been turned away to sell them elsewhere. And if they become a splendid gown that she discovers at a court function and then she learns the cloth was offered to her first, but we were refused access to her; well, my good man, you’re not likely to see duty other than the worst post in the kingdom.” He nodded his head to confirm his prophesy and glanced at his assistant who nodded as well, supporting his argument.

The guard wavered; the vision of his exile took root.

“Unique cloth you say?”

“Oh yes, unique in every way,” the merchant reaffirmed, nodding, “And offered exclusively to the queen. It will not be found in the market place unless we are refused access to the palace.”

The guards looked at each other apparently for support. They huddled together in consultation. Each glanced at the merchants, who beamed reassuring smiles and flashed the fabric again. The senior guard pointed his spear through the gate as his companion guard returned to his post at the opposite side of the gate. The two pretend merchants hurried through the gate, slipping coins to the guards as they passed. They disappeared quickly, dumping the fabric bolts in a trash bin. The men moved through the palace only to reappear amid the commotion. They sought directions from the most humble of servants where their questions wouldn’t cause a stir. The citizens adored their royal couple. Security was mostly a formality. The intruders stationed themselves in a utility closet in a tower near the queen’s apartment and waited.

“Why didn’t we just shoot her with an arrow from a rooftop?” the second man whispered. “She walks around in the open. Her guards are just honor guards. No one expects an attack, not in the city.”

“Keep quiet,” the first merchant-assassin whispered. “It has to be an accident.”

“I don’t see why all the fuss.”

“The less you know, the better, in case you’re caught. Be quiet now; someone’s coming.”

The sound of footsteps on the tower stairs grew louder. The first assassin pulled the door crack closed to only a sliver of an opening.

The queen’s serving maids preceded her up the tower stairs and waited for her to catch up. As she reached the top of the stairs she hesitated, holding her tummy and breathing heavily. Then she passed beyond the assassin’s slender field of view. They heard her move on, chatting and laughing to her maids as she went down the hall.

“How are we going to get past the guards at her door?” the second asked. He got no response. He poked the first. The assassin turned slightly and smacked his assistant who choked back a cry and moved farther back in the closet.

When the leader looked back around, a man servant passed momentarily through the crack’s view. He was dressed in the royal livery with a beverage tray. “We’re out of sight of the guards here. I wish we could overwhelm that servant when he comes back by and use his uniform and tray to gain access to the queen’s chamber.”

“We need to act soon.” the assistant said. “Someone is bound to come here soon to get cleaning stuff.”

The assassin looked behind him at his cohort who was fidgeting again.

“Why can’t we put it in her food?” the assistant asked.

“I’ve told you before; it has to be an accident. If she dies early in life, they will suspect poison in her food. It must get into her body by some unexpected means to cause her to bleed to death. They must think she died from a miscarriage.”

The two men waited what seemed like forever before hearing a maid call to a servant to bring the queen’s royal blue gown for the evening. The servant passed the closet on his way to retrieve the gown.

“That’s it,” the assassin whispered.

“What’s it?”

“The gown, I’ll put it on the yoke of the gown.” The assassin looked around in the closet and grabbed a broom.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to trip the servant when he returns with the gown. I’ll knock him out as he hits the wall so he thinks later he hit his head on the wall. When he’s unconscious, you pour the poison in this vile on the neck of the gown. Do you understand?”