Emerald of the Elves (9 page)

As Adan rounded a bend in the trail, he saw his gypsy riders in the mouth of a canyon. They had dismounted and had their bows ready. Adan rode past them and dismounted himself. He looked up to his right and saw dwarf archers above him. He grabbed his bow and made himself ready for battle.

As the first band of goblins rounded the bend, a hail of arrows sliced into them. The lightning strikes continued, but they were no longer getting closer. The goblins kept coming and the archers kept firing. Within moments, there was a heap of bodies at the bend in the trail. The goblins stopped coming around the bend, and Adan heard shouts of cheering coming from the dwarves up on the ledge. He turned and found Natia and Tedi not far away. He walked over to them, and saw a dwarf standing next to them.

“This is Adan, king of the gypsies,” declared Tedi.

“Welcome to Dorgun,” grinned the dwarf. “A friend of Garala is a friend of the dwarves.”

“Who?” asked Adan with a puzzled look.

“You know him as Arik,” smiled the dwarf. “To us, he is known as Garala, the prophesized one.”

“Thank you for helping my people survive the attack,” smiled Adan. “Our losses would have been great without the assistance of the dwarves.”

“It is always a pleasure to a dwarf to join in battle against goblins,” grinned the dwarf. “Your people can pass through the mine now. The way has been marked so that you will not get lost.”

“Are you sure that the goblins will not attack again?” asked Adan. “My people stand ready to help you defend your homeland.”

“Your offer is well accepted,” stated the dwarf, “but even the goblins have more sense than to attack dwarves in their mine. They are scurrying back to their holes as we speak. There will be no further battle today.”

“Then we shall move through to the other side of the mountains,” nodded the king of the gypsies.

“Lead your people into this canyon and turn to the left at the second opportunity,” instructed the dwarf. “There is an entrance to the mine at the end of that small canyon.”

Adan nodded and gave the order to mount up. Adan led his people into the mine of Dorgun. The tunnels were dark, but torches marked the way. He noticed that each intersection was blocked off with carts, clearly marking the route he was supposed to take. By the time they emerged out of the other side of the mountain, the sun was going down. Adan immediately split off from the group of riders and sought out Mandal. He spent an hour going over the defensive precautions of the campsite and then moved to the central campfire. Several new faces had joined the group and were talking to Tedi. He walked over to meet them. Tedi introduced the Rangers to the gypsies. After the introduction, Boris pulled Adan aside.

“Was the lightning today your work, Master Khatama?” asked Adan before Master Khatama had the chance to speak.

“Some of it,” Boris nodded. “Fredrik also has the gift.”

“Well it certainly was impressive,” responded Adan. “I am sure it saved many gypsy lives today. We are very grateful.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” grinned Boris. “I see that you have many spare horses. I know an army who needs them desperately.”

“I would be pleased to sell them to this army of yours,” grinned the king of the gypsies. “Can you negotiate the price for them?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a gift,” smiled Boris. “Gold is scarce when you must feed tens of thousands of people.”

“But you are talking to a gypsy,” laughed Adan. “Surely, you must know us better than that. Where are these horses needed?”

“In Southland,” stated Boris.

“Southland?” echoed Adan. “That is much too far for us to drive the herd. Sorry, but even a good price would not persuade me to drive them that far.”

“It is not out of your way,” insisted Boris. “After all, you will be going there anyway to deliver weapons and armor from the dwarves.”

“You are in the wrong trade,” Adan laughed heartily. “A bard could not get as many laughs as you are getting. You obviously have never dealt with gypsies.”

“Actually,” smiled Boris, “I have high regard for the gypsies. One of the finest men that I ever met was a gypsy. I told him a tale many years ago. A tale he promised to pass on to his people. I am disappointed that he did not do so.”

“You can never be sure what a gypsy might do,” Adan smiled mischievously. “Who was this fine gypsy?”

“His name was Ora,” declared Master Khatama.

The color drained out of Adan’s face, and his laugh died in his throat. His eyes grew wide as he stared at Master Khatama.

“What was the story about?” Adan asked apprehensively.

“It was about the sky above,” replied Boris. “It was a tale of the future, and how the gypsy people should prepare for it. It was the prophecy of the coming king.”

“Blessed colt!” exclaimed Adan as he fell to his knees. “You are the Mage?”

“It is not me that you must kneel before,” Boris said softly as he guided Adan to his feet. “Your loyalty is due to Prince Arik of Alcea, and it is he who needs the horses and the armor.”

“In the name of my father and his brother, Ora,” swore the king of the gypsies, “Prince Arik shall have whatever the gypsies have. We shall leave for Southland as soon as the dwarf shipment is ready.”

Oscar Dalek and Queen Marta stood in the King’s Chamber in the Royal Palace of Tagaret. They listened intently as Sheri gave her weekly report about the food distribution.

“While the people are finally able to eat,” offered Sheri, “there is still need for more food.”

“There are more wagons on the way,” responded Oscar, “but food is at a premium everywhere. I am having trouble finding a source where I can buy it.”

“Then we must encourage its growth right here in Tagaret,” decided the queen.

“The soil in the gardening areas is fairly poor,” sighed Oscar. “I do not think we can increase the yield significantly.”

“You own many shipping companies, my son,” smiled Queen Marta. “If you cannot find enough food to keep your wagons full, then fill those wagons with the best soil you can find.”

“And people wonder where I got my strange ideas from,” chuckled Oscar. “That is an excellent plan, Mother. I shall work on it immediately.”

“How about the trade shops, Sheri?” asked Queen Marta. “Are the children able to handle most of the tasks?”

“Most,” Sheri reported honestly. “At least they are able to allow the master craftsmen to concentrate on their trades instead of minor things. We keep the forges stoked and the ovens burning. Supplies are almost always on time so the craftsmen never have to stop because of shortages. The few times we have messed up are being addressed. I do not think we will have any more problems in that area.”

“I have heard many good reports about the children,” nodded Oscar. “The citizens are impressed with their organization and their capabilities. You should be proud.”

“They are hard workers,” smiled Sheri. “They know what is coming and are thankful for the chance to help.”

“Thank you, Sheri,” smiled Queen Marta. “Your organization has truly made a difference to the citizens of Tagaret. We shall meet again next week.”

“It is a pleasure to serve you, Your Highness,” curtsied Sheri.

“Would you look in on Darin and Daevo before your leave?” requested the queen.

Sheri smiled and nodded as she turned to leave the King’s Chamber in the Royal Palace of Tagaret. As she left the room, Zackary Nolan entered and closed the door.

“Was the mission successful?” asked Oscar Dalek.

“Your Highness,” Zack bowed to the queen before answering Oscar. “The mission was a success. The gold was quite plentiful and has been transferred to the palace treasury. I assume that they could not find a way to get it out of the city safely. Twelve of Sarac’s minions died in the raid.”

“How are we ever going to rid Tagaret of Sarac’s people?” sighed Queen Marta. “They are everywhere.”

“And nowhere,” nodded Zack.

“We must rid the city of these vermin before Prince Arik returns to the city,” frowned Oscar. “If they succeed in killing him, the Dark One will reign forever.”

“That is why I am here,” Queen Marta smiled thinly. “We shall give Prince Arik the chance to succeed by ridding the city of Sarac’s men. You have done well, Zackary. See how many more you can find. Our time is getting short.”

“I shall do my best, Your Highness,” bowed Zackary.

“Would you have General Gregor come by?” requested Oscar as he turned and walked to a large wall map at the back of the room. “I want to discuss the situation of the Army of the West with him.”

“I shall do so promptly,” nodded Zackary.

“And have the Red Swords hold off any other visitors until he is done with us,” added the queen.

“So it shall be,” nodded Zackary as he turned and left the room.

As Zackary Nolan closed the door to the King’s Chamber, he noticed a group approaching the room.

“There are to be no visitors until General Gregor has left the chamber,” stated Zackary to the Red Sword guards outside the chamber.

Zack watched the group arrive and halt outside the door to the chamber. Four kitchen staff workers carried a long table with a decorated cake upon it. Four Red Swords, two leading and two following accompanied them.

“The staff has prepared a birthday cake for the queen,” declared one of the kitchen workers.

“We have not been informed of this,” retorted one of the Red Sword guards. “You shall have to wait.”

“It is a surprise from the staff to show our appreciation and devotion,” countered the kitchen worker. “I am sure that she will be pleased.”

Zackary shook his head and started walking past the cake. He frowned as he gazed at the feet of the Red Sword escorts. Something seemed wrong to him, but he could not determine what. He continued past the cake and suddenly halted behind the last of the escorts. He stared at the damp boots of the Red Swords. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the length of the pants on the escorts and noticed that they were too short to properly fit the man.

Zackary reversed course and headed back towards the King’s chamber. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary regarding the kitchen staff, but the forward escorts also had damp boots. Zackary stopped and pretended to admire the cake. In reality, his eyes carefully examined the two forward escorts. His eyes widened involuntarily when he saw the small slit in the back of one of the uniforms. It was a slit that appeared to have been created by a knife to the man’s back. His eyes darted to the other forward escort and saw a similar hole in the man’s uniform.

Zackary began softly whistling a tune as he continued towards the King’s Chamber. The tune was the Red Sword battle hymn, and the two Red Swords guarding the door to the King’s Chamber suddenly stared at Zackary. Zack walked to the door and stopped with his back to the cake escorts. He locked his eyes with one of the Red Sword guards and frowned as he nodded his head slightly towards the men behind him. The guard watched Zackary curiously as Zack’s hand slowly went to the hilt of his sword. Suddenly, the Red Sword guards understood the warning and nodded slightly.

Zackary yelled, “Infiltrators!” as he pulled his sword and whirled.

Zackary’s sword sliced cleanly through the neck of one of the fake Red Swords. Before anyone else could react, Zackary lowered his sword and pierced the heart of the second false Red Sword. The corridor immediately transformed into a battlefield as the real Red Swords pulled their swords and charged. The kitchen workers dropped the table, spilling the cake onto the floor. They turned and fled down a perpendicular corridor. The two fake Red Swords at the rear of the procession also took off running.

The real Red Swords slid in the cake as they tried to catch the fleeing suspects. Other Red Swords appeared from around the corner and joined the chase. The door to the King’s Chamber flew open and Oscar appeared with his sword drawn. He quickly ran his eyes over the scene in the corridor and stepped out next to Zackary.

“What happened?” asked Oscar.

“Sarac’s people dressed as Red Swords,” scowled Zack as he moved toward the intersection of corridors.  “They had a birthday cake for the queen.”

“It is not even close to her birthday,” retorted Oscar as he caught up to Zackary. “How many were there?”

“Four fake Red Swords,” reported Zack, “and four kitchen staff. They will never get out of the palace alive. We have to clean this city up before your son arrives.”

“We are doing the best we can,” sighed Oscar. “They have had close to twenty years to infiltrate Tagaret. They could be any citizen, and we will not know until they strike.”

Suddenly, a scream ripped through the corridor that made Oscar’s blood turn cold. He whirled around and raced for the King’s Chamber with Zackary on his heels. Oscar raced through the door and slid to a halt. He howled in rage as he saw Queen Marta skewered to the wall with a sword. The Red Sword standing near her turned and cackled with glee as the white orbs of his eyes glared at Oscar. He let go of his sword and pulled a dagger. With a swiftness that belied his recent death, the revenant threw the knife at Oscar Dalek.

Zackary Nolan moved quickly and dove at Oscar, pushing the prince out of the path of the knife. Oscar stumbled into a wall, but he swiftly rebounded and charged the revenant. The fake Red Sword grabbed the hilt of his sword and tried to pull it free of the wall it was imbedded in. He was not quick enough. Oscar’s sword slashed through the neck of the revenant. As the revenant’s head rolled across the floor, Oscar dropped his sword and raced to his mother.

Queen Marta’s blood flowed down the front of her white gown. Her eyes were closed and her breathing ragged. Oscar gripped the revenant’s sword with both hands and started to pull on it. The queen’s eyes flew open and a cry escaped her lips.

“No,” gasped the queen. “It is too late for that. Let me speak.”

Oscar nodded sadly and released the sword.

“Arik must be kept safe,” gasped the queen. “Promise me that you will give your all to see that he succeeds.”

“He is my son, Mother,” sobbed Oscar. “I would give my life to save him.”