Plague of Tyrants Page 7

  She sat instead, “I don't dance with drunken old fools, Harlow,” replied Ellice.

  Harlow swayed, scowling, then looked at Aline as if he'd just noticed her, “How about you, young lady?”

  “Sure.” Aline replied quickly.

  “Really?” asked Gordon.

  “I like to dance,” she said, passing Gordon and punching him hard. “Training can wait.”

  “What was it for this time?” asked Gordon, rubbing his arm.

  “For not asking me to dance,” she turned and took Harlow's arm.

  Gordon watched them near the musicians. More men were dancing as the music got louder, attracting a larger crowd. Aline and Harlow danced, and she didn't hide her smile.

  From behind him Ellice said, “A little young to be in love, aren't you?”

  Gordon spun around, “Mother! Don't even joke…. I mean, she can beat me in a fight.”

  Ellice raised her hands in mock surrender, “Oh. I hit a sore spot. I was just teasing, son.”

  Gordon scowled at her, not replying.

  Ellice took him by the shoulders and carefully turned him around to look at Aline, “She is lovely, though.” Ellice rested her chin on Gordon's head, as they both watched Aline dance.

  “Yeah, I guess. And scary, and stubborn, she can punch like a man,” he said, rubbing his arm. “And really, mother. Harlow? Why?”

  “Nice way to change the subject, son.” Ellice smiled to herself, “Oh, who knows what attracts one person to another. Harlow helped me into the deep caves of Thure where I found a lot of evidence against Trunculin. I found even more in Extatumm. What I was finding out about the history I thought I knew, it all scared me. I was alone, not even dreaming that you and Loren had survived. It wasn't love, and it was brief.”

  “Mantuan said Harlow is dangerous.”

  “He's right,” replied Ellice. ”You don't want to be an enemy of Harlow.”

  “Then why him?”

  “Harlow has been on the sea for more years than I have been alive. I have seen his insanity pop out like a spirit took over his body. But it is never directed at friends. I almost pity an enemy of Harlow.”

  “But, he will get us to the Outlands safely, right?” asked Gordon.

  “Yes, Harlow will honor his word. I remember a story he told once…” her words trailed off and she grabbed another small piece of paper, quickly scribbling another note. She seemed almost panicked.

  Gordon looked confused. He turned his head as he realized another musician had added drums to the music. He couldn't spot the drummer, but it didn't really fit with the tune.

  “Hand me a bird, NOW!” Ellice said in a whispered shout.

  “What is it?” he said, opening the cage for a bird.

  She rolled the note, inserted it, and let the bird fly.

  By then the music on their ship had died, all except for the drums.

  Gordon saw everyone had stopped dancing. They all sprung to life, quickly putting out the lanterns. No one said a word.

  “Mother?” Gordon whispered.

  Ellice put her hand over Gordon's mouth. The rhythmic drumming was all they heard as the ship swayed in near total darkness. Everyone was silent, and they all had their weapons out. Aline had walked softly, but swiftly back to Ellice and Gordon, both long and shortknife in hand.

  The drums beat on, steadily, getting louder.

  The moon was only a peeking sliver behind the clouds, the faint stars a vague help. With one hand, Ellice drew her shortknife, her other hand still over Gordon confused mouth.

  She leaned very close to his ear, and in a whisper only he could hear, she said, “Sea Lords.”

  Gordon had read all about them. His heart began to beat fast as he looked over the deck and realized that everyone was readying themselves for a fight. He knew they would soon all be slaves, or dead.

  Chapter 17: Oath of Truth

  Mantuan and Tolan looked at the smoldering pile. It was the last of the thirteen fires. They had visited the sites one by one and found the same scene. The fires had all been in different villages, all in the center of a market place. No buildings had been burnt. Instead, in each place they discovered them smoldering remains of a large pile of wood.

  They realized from the smell that they had been fueled by leaves as well, ensuring a lot of smoke. The only wood that remained now were name boards like the ones used in the choosing ceremony. He couldn't tell if names had been painted on them or not, but he realized they were making a point.

  Most disturbing of all, no one would talk to them.

  “What do we do now?” asked Tolan. “It's not possible that no one saw anything. Not in the middle of a busy marketplace.”

  Mantuan spotted the largest store in the square. It had a roof, unlike most of the portable carts and trading wagons that could be put away at night. They walked into the open-air store.

  Walking past the customers and bins filled with fruits, grains, and vegetables, Mantuan went to the counter near the back of the store. He stayed alert to another fight like the one in the drinks house, but as he looked at the boy behind the counter, no older than ten years, he wasn't concerned about an immediate attack.

  Mantuan smiled, “Hello, friend. Who owns this market?”

  “My father does. He's not here.”

  “That's okay. Maybe you can help me,” Mantuan said, “did you see the fire?”

  “What fire?” asked the boy, looking straight into Mantuan's eye. “I like your patch.”

  Mantuan turned his head around. There was a direct sight line to the smoldering pile. He could even smell the faint smoke drifting into the store. “Are you jesting with me, boy?”

  “No,” said the boy, still studying Mantuan's patch.

  After days of chasing thirteen fires, Tolan was losing his patience, “Alright boy, we've had enough…”

  Mantuan quieted him with a gesture, “We need to talk to whoever set that fire, son.”

  “I'm not your son,” said the boy. “I'm not supposed talk to soldiers from the palace.”

  Mantuan tried another tactic, “How old are you? 10? 11? Wouldn't you like a chance to live at the palace, to be chosen king when you turn thirteen?”

  The boy laughed a joyless laugh meant for older men, “Are you jesting? Everyone knows the choosing is a lie. You'd better leave. My father won't like me talking to you.”

  “Why you little…” Tolan nearly jumped over the counter, before Mantuan stood in his way.

  “We don't hurt people. He has a right to speak, even if he's rude.”

  “Ha,” said the boy, and spat on the ground.

  Mantuan eyed the boy again, surprised by the open disrespect from a child, then reluctantly left with Tolan.

  “The people have never been this angry with the palace,” said Tolan, shaking his head.

  Mantuan said, “Trunculin was beloved by the people of the kingdom for most of his life, even if he was hated in secret by many that suspected the truth. For many, he was selling them fantasies they wanted to believe. Now that the truth is out, they're angry at the world as it is. I had hoped they would see what we are trying to restore, but some may just want fantasies.”

  They looked around the market. Most people were going about their day, but those that were looking at them were not smiling.

  Mantuan spotted a round metal sign above a nearby door. It was a circle with five smaller circles around the inner edge.

  “Let's find some answers,” he said, going toward the building with the sign.

  They walked to the small building with a fine heavy wood door with intricate metalwork. The door had the same design of circles. Mantuan knew it was always unlocked, night and day.

  Inside the circular room, shelves curved along the walls holding candles and small bells, which were suspended from rings hanging over the shelves. Arranged on either side of each candle was a small mirror, making the room seem huge with the light of candles reflected everywhere. There were rows of chairs arranged facing the
center of the room.

  Mantuan went to a bell and struck it three times. Tolan noticed a pleasant odor, seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Have you never been to a house of the five senses?” Mantuan asked, noticing Tolan's quizzical look.

  “No. I've heard of them, of course. My family had no faith. What is that smell?”

  “There's spice on the bell's striker. That's for the sense of smell, the candles are for our eyes, and the bell for our ears and also for the touch.”

  “Hmm. Interesting,” Tolan commented, “and for taste?”

  Mantuan was already picking up a small piece of bread off a silver plate by the bell he had just rung, “Spiced bits of hard bread. Reminds me of… well, a lifetime ago.”

  “Your family were members of this faith? If I recall, it's based on an ancient warrior that turned from war. He searched the rest of his life for… sorry, I've forgotten the tale.”

  “He searches for inner peace and the source of man's darkness.”

  Tolan said, “Oh, is that all? Seems a bit silly, doesn't it?” he smiled. Mantuan jerked his head, fire threatened to spit from his good eye. Ancient feelings bubbled up. He sighed instead, forcing a calm to replace the fire. “Not family. I found the faith after I began training at the palace. I haven't stepped into a house of the senses for a long time.”

  Tolan kept smiling, fascinated. He realized he knew very little of Mantuan's past. After Trunculin's trial Mantuan had only granted one interview with a popular weekly pamphlet circulated around the villages, but it focused on recent events, like the battle of Thure. His past remained a mystery. Tolan puzzled over the giant man with the patch.

  Before Tolan could think on Mantuan too long, a man appeared, dressed in a simple long yellow tunic. The man was young, perhaps twenty. He sighed as he saw Mantuan. The men kissed each other on the cheeks and embraced like they knew each other.

  The young man spoke, “I hoped you would not come to me.”

  “You know who I am, then?” asked Mantuan.

  The young man smiled kindly and simply gestured to his own eye.

  Mantuan smiled, “I often forget that I'm wearing this patch.”

  Tolan asked the man, “So you don't know each other?”

  The young man replied, “All of us with awakened senses are like one family. But no, I have never met Mantuan.”

  Tolan asked, “Then why did you hope we wouldn't come to you?”

  “I am a brother that serves,” the young man said. “Mantuan knows that I have taken a vow of truth.”

  Tolan considered this, “You mean, you can't lie?”

  The man gently nodded his head.

  “Ever?” asked Tolan. “I could not do your job.”

  “Brother,” said Mantuan, “I'm sorry to put you in this position, but no one will talk with me.”

  The man smiled as though he understood.

  Tolan prompted, “Well? Don't you have to tell us?”

  The young man said, “I cannot lie. But brothers do not have to offer truth.”

  “Who set the fire?” Mantuan asked.

  “Agents, allied with the Council of the Thirteen.”

  “Where can I find these agents?” asked Mantuan.

  “Everywhere.”

  Ignoring the chill that went up his neck, Mantuan asked, “Are any leaders of this Council nearby?”

  “I don't know.”

  “You said you couldn't lie,” insisted Tolan.

  Mantuan shot Tolan an angry look, “Do not insult him.”

  Tolan relented, thinking again, Interesting, very interesting.

  Mantuan continued, “How do I get a message to this council that I want to talk with them?”

  “Nail a message to the signpost at the end of this road. Fold it and write 13 on the outside. No one will open it except an agent of the Thirteen.”

  Tolan asked, “No one else will touch the note? They are that respected?”

  “Yes.”

  Mantuan asked, “Why won't anyone talk to us?”

  “They are angry.”

  “Why?” asked Tolan.

  The young man shook his head.

  Mantuan nodded knowingly, “Sorry, too broad a question. Are the people angry with King Asa?”

  “No.”

  “King Gordon?”

  “No.”

  “Are they angry that they are still kings?” asked Tolan.

  “Yes.”

  Mantuan asked, “Are they angry Trunculin is dead?”

  “No.”

  “Do they feel nothing has changed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will the people move against the palace?” Tolan asked.

  “I don't know. There is wild talk, but I don't know.”

  Mantuan asked, “Do the people here see us as the symbol of what is wrong?”

  “Yes,” said the young man, “and no.” Before Mantuan could ask another question, the young man continued, making sure they were still alone, “I don't want to be vague to a brother of the senses. The people are glad for change. But with change, comes unstable times. They fear change as much as they thirst for it. You are the face of the uncertain future.”

  Mantuan asked his final question, “Who at the palace do they hate most?”

  “You.”

  Chapter 18: Bad to Worse

  Kett and Lyrra trudged through the swamp. They hadn't spoken for hours, the horror still setting in.

  Finally, the silence was more oppressive than the heat in the swamp, “You couldn't have saved them,” Lyrra offered as she trailed behind him.

  “Don't.” He didn't turn around, “If I couldn't save them, I should have died with them.” They continued through the muddy water. Kett's jaw clenched and unclenched as his thoughts swirled.

  It had been three days since Cayne's betrayal. They had arrived at Kett's homeland two days before. His village by the lake a wasted ruin, bodies everywhere. Their plan was to go home. They had decided to seek shelter in Kett's river lands first, since it was closer than Lyrra's home. Now they were walking away from what they'd found. All dead, everyone I've ever loved.

  Do you think Cayne took some of your people as slaves, or soldiers?” asked Lyrra.

  “I said I don't want to talk. Your people will probably kill me on sight.”

  Lyrra said, “Stop it! There's been enough death. Our tribes may have hated each other, but that time is past. My people will take you in until we find a way to stop Cayne.”

  “You're right. I'm sorry. Old feuds, bad habits.”

  Lyrra replied, “And I'm sorry. I meant no offence. I just wanted to give you some hope.”

  “My people have been fighting your people for a hundred years. You know we never give up. If any were taken as slaves, they would have killed themselves by now. Are you prepared for what we may find when we reach your grasslands?”

  “Cayne's evil may not have reached us yet. Of all the warriors he killed, my lands are the farthest away from the forest. There is hope.” The water was up to their waists now. “Does this swamp never end?”

  “I forgot, you grass folk are not used to the being in the water.”

  “We live near the sea, not swamps. Water falls on our heads, we drink it,” she said, “I just don't want any more mud filling my boots.”

  They finally made their way out of the swamp; they had not seen any of Cayne's army.

  “How did Cayne do this?” asked Kett. “Aspora hasn't been united under any one king for, well, ever. Not since ancient times, anyway.”

  “He must have been building alliances with other leaders for years. If he convinced the larger free cities to side with him that would be half the battle,” said Lyrra.

  “Maybe,” Kett reasoned. “He also might have promised glory by attacking the Thirteeners, rich kingdom. If Cayne does attack them and survives, he would be a legend. And he might come back rich, to bribe more followers.”

  “I know many tribes that are angry when an airship flies over our land, like
they own any land they fly over,” said Lyrra.

  “My tribe hates them too. I just don't understand how none of us saw this coming. And why anyone would follow Cayne, I just don't know. He's making friends with the Extatumm madmen.”

  Lyrra answered, “Or mad women, it seems. Who were those three in Cayne's tent? They were clearly from Extatumm. They attacked Thure last year. Maybe Cayne see them as bold.” Lyrra stopped as they came closer to the grasslands. The column of smoke could only be coming from one place. Lyrra broke into a run towards her homeland.

  She had hardened her heart for what they would see, no matter what she told Kett. Caution wrestled with her need to see what Cayne had done. Staying off the main road, following a hunting trail instead, she led Kett over a large hill, until they stood looking down on what had been her home.

  Her people lived among the tall grasslands, a fertile valley which was snaked by many streams that led to the sea. They farmed and fished, living peacefully for the five years since her father's death. She knew her people would not have given into Cayne easily. Her home was now a burnt wasteland.

  Nothing recognizable remained, except the charred bodies of those that would not yield. She told herself to keep the pain, to hold it and turn it into anger and focus. But at the first sign of a dead child, she wept.

  Kett let her cry. She didn't weep long. “We have to kill him. We have to go back now.” Lyrra said, wiping her last tear.

  “Cayne will die, but not today. He's taken Aspora, but he will not hold it. We must raise an army.”

  “How?”

  “Are we close to the sea?”

  Lyrra answered, “Yes. How can we raise an army? No, it's better if we sneak in and kill him, just the two of us.”

  Kett argued, “You saw his new army. He has countless numbers. We saw men in his ranks from all over Aspora. More have joined him than opposed him. No, we have to get to the boy kings. Warn them that Cayne is coming. We join with them and take back our home. I may hate them, but I hate Cayne more.”

  “Outsiders? The Thirteeners? Why would they help us?”

  Kett said, “If we warn of the attack, why wouldn't they? Cayne has an ally with airships. The Thirteeners have more. We need to match airship with airship.”