Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild (12 page)

“Yes, My Lord. There are two more things I think you need to know. The first is, Spirit was also led away with Cloud. She, too, had someone on her, again, most likely strapped across the saddle. Someone light, lighter than the Prince. I had our two best trackers make these assessments. Perhaps the girl he went to meet by the north gardens? Second,” he paused to bite his lower lip, upon which he chewed for several seconds. Nobody spoke. It was clear there was some bad news that was going to follow which officer Baird was preparing himself to deliver. “Second, the entire scout patrol was hacked to death.” His voice broke, and he collapsed. Borok stood quickly and bolted to his side to prevent him from striking the floor. He knew, as did all the others in the room, that Lieutenant Baird’s brother had been a member of the North-Gate scout patrol. He composed himself and finished with, “Their heads were mounted on stakes. All twelve of them.”

There was an uneasy silence. Rolan broke it by saying, “Thank you for your report, Lieutenant. Kudos on a job well done. All here are sorry for your loss. Is there anything else?”

“No, My Lord. That is all I know. Thank you, My Lord.”

“You are then ordered to take one week of leave and bury your brother’s remains. Was he married?”

“No, My Lord.”

“How much of a head start do they have on us?”

“Too much. They will be in Slova before we could possibly catch them. The few troops we were able to muster took the quicker trail along the western border of the Slova River valley, while the Trolls slipped by them along the eastern aspect. They never saw them. I am sure they will travel straight away through Scorched Earth, where they will split into two groups. The one will acquire fresh mounts and travel from there as rapidly as possible with the … prisoners … to Ghasten, the capital city of course. They will want to present them … to Malance Venomisis as soon as possible to gain his favor, and hopefully some scrap of a reward.”

Again there was a brief silence.

“Very good, Lieutenant. Dismissed. Let me say again how sorry I am for your loss.”

Baird clasped his fist over his heart, whispered, “My Lord,” and left.

The agony he felt at the thought of his only son in the clutches of the Trolls was almost more than he could bear. In spite of this, he had a country to run.

“Trolls on Lizardrulls within a mile of the Great Wall,” he thought. This was unthinkable. How had they managed it?

After Lieutenant Baird left the room, Rolan took his seat at the Great Table for the first time since their meeting had started. He tapped on the armrest of his chair.

All present shared his fright of what horrors might befall the Prince at the hands of the enemy as they waited for him to speak.

“First things first,” he began. “How are we going to deal with the situation at The Gate?”

It was Dorin who spoke first. “The scouts tell us that there are Trolls a thousand strong amassed on our side of the fort. What they don’t know is that we have nowhere near enough troops left there to assault them directly from the inside. Maybe they do know. By my count, we have two hundred to two hundred and twenty, barely enough, but probably sufficient, to defend it, but nowhere near enough to fight their way out. Now that the situation on the northern front is more stable, we could deploy troops to attack them directly, but our losses would be huge because they are camped in the narrows, and the only way to get at them is straight on via the road itself. They would cut us to pieces with their archers and crossbows while we were getting close enough for sword and mace. Yes, we would win, but the price would be too high and Malance Venomisis knows this.”

“Well surely we cannot let the Troll scum sit there and starve us out,” snorted Luke. “We need to show these Trolls that they cannot even think of invading our land from the south. We need to teach them a lesson. We need a show of strength, that’s what we need.”

“No,” thought Dorin, “What we need is a miracle …”

Chapter 6

“We will annihilate them to a man,” thought Malance. Mere moments before, he had gotten the news of the flanking of the troops at The Gate. He rubbed his hands together in glee as he happily chewed on the large chunk of meat that he had crammed into his mouth. It was from the thigh of one of the slain warriors in the encounter with Erik and his small company. Slovans did not bury their vanquished enemies. They ate them. It was one solution to the problem of food for the troops waging war. Simple, really, the more you killed, the more you got to eat.

They hadn’t had the time to carry all of the corpses back home with them, speed being of the essence to outrun those pursuing them, but one of the Troll commanders had hacked off one good thighbone and strapped it to his saddle as a prize for the Emperor, anything to gain favor with his supreme commander.

He wiped the fat that dribbled down his chin with a greasy sleeve, smacked his lips, and grunted, “Take me to him.”

The order was given to no one in particular, but several of the Emperor’s personal attendants jumped up nervously and scrambled to assemble and lead him down to the dungeons of the fortress of Ghasten, capital city of Slova, where the Prince of Ravenwild was being kept. Lanterns and candles were hastily gathered and they proceeded out the door and into a long corridor. Nobody spoke. Nobody ever dared to speak in the presence of the Emperor. One wrong word and you could suddenly find yourself without a tongue, or worse.

The Emperor’s breathing was labored as he moved his massive bulk slowly along. The noise of their heavy boots reverberated off the stone floor on which they marched. Trolls had no use for carpets - a waste of energy to make them, and clean them, and maintain them. A utilitarian race, they nevertheless did keep the Emperor’s quarters spotless.

Their motivation: fear.

At the end of the corridor they turned right and continued down another of about the same length. The air was heavy from the smell of the burning pine pitch used on the torches, nothing more than slender pieces of wood covered with the stuff at the ends. They were simply inserted into the wrought iron holders and set to flame. About midway down this second corridor it became ever so slightly darker. Two of the torches had burned out. The Emperor paused. Not a good sign.

In a saccharine voice, he asked, “Who is in charge of maintaining the torches in the halls tonight?”

The Troll nearest to him spoke. “That would be Sergeant Rolla, Your Excellency.” All looked deathly afraid. There was never a way to predict how the Emperor was going to act in situations such as this.

“And where might the sergeant be right now?” he asked. Again his voice was sickly sweet.

The Troll who had spoken first looked all around the group. This might be a disaster. “He needed to go home for a short while. His wife is with child and the delivery is not going well. He wanted to be with her during this difficult time … Your Excellency.” His voice trailed away.

“Well, isn’t that lovely. Please have him brought to me the moment he decides to return and grace us with his presence. Meanwhile, to whom did he delegate his work responsibilities?”

This time nobody spoke. All were too afraid.

The Emperor cleared his throat. Again, the only Troll who had spoken answered him. “That would be Olfgar.” His voice was hushed, barely a whisper.

The Emperor looked around. “And where might
he
be?”

Again there was silence.

Once again the only Troll with the bravado to speak answered. “Your Excellency, I believe he is with the sergeant, assisting him in his efforts at home.”

“I see,” was the response in the same syrupy voice. “I understand. The birth of a child is such a wondrous event, isn’t it? Oh well, if one of you fellows would be so kind as to take over the sergeant’s duties in his absence, I would be ever so grateful. Now let us proceed.”

There was a collective sigh as they started out again towards the dungeons. All knew that this episode might as well have ended with a mass execution by slow torture. All knew it still might, but perhaps the Emperor would forget. Hopefully.

At the end of this hall the group again turned right, where a much shorter passage blind-ended in a set of substantial solid oak doors that were guarded by two Troll soldiers in full battle dress. They snapped to attention when they saw who was approaching. One fumbled nervously at the keys. His hand was clearly trembling as he inserted one into the lock. The tumblers clicked audibly and, without a word, the group made their way down the stairs. Darker and darker it became. It was obvious that Olfgar had completely ignored this part of the fortress. Fortunately, they had remembered the lanterns. Other than that it would have been pitch-black.

The Troll leading them opened the doors to the dungeons. Inside, it was lighter. Apparently the lower level guards had been tending the torches.

In front of them stretched a hallway about a hundred feet long at the end of which was a table. Three Trolls sat there. Like the ones on the level above them, they were fully armed. They were presently engaged in a board game. They too jumped to attention at once when they saw the Emperor and his entourage.

On either side of the hall were the cells; tiny things, no more than eight feet by eight feet square, some stuffed with up to ten prisoners. The stench of filth and waste was horrible.

The prisoners, upon seeing their visitors, began stirring, crowding towards the bars at the fronts of the cells. Fights broke out as they jockeyed for position to be able to be nearest the Emperor and beg for their release as he passed by. It was pandemonium.

The Emperor paid the cries and begging of the inmates not the slightest heed of course, as he walked straight down the middle of the hallway, his gaze fixed upon the three Trolls at the end. Before he got there, at the last pair of cells, he stopped. He turned to the one on the right in which there were only two prisoners. By their appearance, they were the new arrivals. They looked like they had been through an ordeal, but were far too clean to have been there as long as the rest. He knew the one to be Erik Elijah Fairman, Prince of Ravenwild. As for the other, he knew not, but he would soon enough.

He turned to his left. This cell was empty. Good. At least someone was listening to his orders.

He turned slowly back to his right. Erik was standing about halfway back in his cell. He had deliberately positioned himself between the outsiders and Stephanie, who appeared to be sleeping in the corner.

“So this is the young Prince of Ravenwild,” said Malance. “And do I see someone with him?”

He turned to face the three Troll guards. They were obviously nervous, shifting back and forth from side to side in front of him.

“Yes,” spoke the senior sergeant. “A young girl. We captured her with the Prince. She has not awakened since they were brought in.”

“I see,” said Malance. He turned back to face Erik. “Well, young Prince, since none of these fools has the manners to properly introduce us, I am Leopold Malance Venomisis, Emperor of Slova. You are Erik Fairman, no?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Well, I can see that
you
have been raised with manners, unlike the swine that is guarding you
.
” He frowned at the guards, who stood with downcast eyes.

“Now, who is that in there with you?”

“Your Excellency, she is just a friend and inconsequential in the war between our countries. I would consider it a personal favor if you would release her and allow her to return to Belcourt with an escort under a flag of truce. You have my word that she is not in our military, nor in any way associated with our government. She is just a private citizen and, as I have said, my friend.”

“And this would be agreeable to her, waltzing away scot-free and leaving you in the hands of your captors? Is she capable of speaking for herself?”

“Not at the moment, Your Excellency. It is as the sergeant said. She was knocked unconscious, and has been in and out all the way here. Since we arrived she has not awakened. Would it be possible to get her medical attention? I beg you. Please …” His voice was desperate, pleading, as he choked on the final word of his request. “Your Excellency,” he whispered in conclusion.

“Well, well, well,” said Malance. “The young Prince has deep feelings for the girl, and a peasant girl at that. How interesting. Hmmm. All right, it shall be as you wish. Yes, I shall do this for you, and ask for nothing in return. Nothing. Do you find that remarkable? Would you think it possible that I would extend to you, my sworn enemy, the hand of simple kindness? Hmmm?”

Erik paused to think before he answered. It seemed like a loaded question. If he answered, ‘Yes,’ Malance Venomisis might interpret this as him thinking the Emperor weak, and he might go off the deep end, but if he said, ‘No,’ the Emperor might lash out at Stephanie.

“Your Excellency,” he replied, “I have no doubt that a leader that is as fearless and skilled a warrior as yourself might also be willing to show kindness. Thank you for this.”