***
Achil stood and looked out from his terrace onto the city of Findolin, wooden cranes rose above the skyline giving life back to broken buildings. Parts remained scolded by fire that had yet to be rebuilt, but the process at least had begun. And after it had all been done what then, everyone was resigned to the fact that the Mandrake would return and commit more wanton destruction. Achil knew most of all that Findolin needed time to mend, time to prepare an appropriate defence. He had already had quiet words with Agoran on the subject and soon he, Andreas, Nicholas and Nishga would start their journey into the Central Kingdoms and the mysterious east. First though they had to traverse the lands of the Mead. Achil tried to recall what he knew of those people and their lands. The last time he had been there was in defence of Findolin but that was before he had journeyed to Osgaroth. Since that time Mead Raiders had come upon them like a wave upon the sand. It was not known that they were part of the great Mandrake Imperium. His understanding of the people of Mead was that they were not a threat; their lands had always been sparsely populated with no major settlements or cities, a kingdom of mainly small holdings and hamlets, but ever since the Mandrake Imperium annexed their lands, they had dismantled Mead culture turning the society into something that resembled the civilisations of the central kingdoms. It had become a province, and in a brief period of time Mead had altered dramatically. The Imperium had infected the land like a disease, and before long every part of it had been contaminated. So that when the Finns had been provoked into crossing into those lands they had rode into a well organised, well-defended and well-guarded unified kingdom under one banner, that of the Imperium.
Achil gazed at his new surroundings; still a little uncomfortable at the opulence that had been afforded him. He had moved from his house into the palace on the request of the King, now that he had been made once more the Kings Champion. A role he had relinquished when he had left some years before to seek an alliance with the Dragon People of Osgaroth. As the Kings Champion his responsibilities required that he remain within the Palace precinct. Outside a gong sounded, the reverberating sound hummed through the corridors. Achil was thrust back into the present, thrown out of his reflective brooding of the past. The New King, Paladin, had proclaimed that they would remember the fallen in this manner. Every morning at ten, since the Battle for Findolin had ended, the gong would be struck. And so it was that the sound would be answered to the South, East and West of the city. Achil listened to each response as it echoed round. He stood looking over his balcony, his view unencumbered by other buildings, taking a sip from a glass of wine and wincing slightly, it was bitter as the day was fresh, his uninvited eyes gazed into distant parks and courtyards. He could see a dog barking at a small boy who was running along one of the narrow cobbled streets; he had a stick and was propelling something along the floor with it. The dog was dancing at his side. Achil smiled to himself, as he did so he was interrupted by a loud knock on the door, three quick thuds. Achil strode back into his room, placing his glass on a small table next to its opening. Walking passed his bed, which had not been slept in. His inability to sleep was an unfortunate residual effect of thinking that at any moment he might have to be called to arms.
Again there were three quick thuds. This time someone decided to try the door.
"Hey, this is no time to still be sleeping. We have a meeting to get to, remember," It was Andreas.
Achil smiled to himself, he doubted that Andreas ever rested.
“Wait a moment, I’m ready I was just taking in some air.”
Achil opened the door. There in front of him leaning back against the wall arms crossed was his old friend.
“Yes, well the smell of soot and ash must be doing you wonders,” replied Andreas grimly.
“Where is the meeting anyway?" Achil took a small leather jerkin from a peg on the wall and wrapped it round his thick frame and walked out into the corridor, locking the door behind him.
“Nicholas set the meeting up and we're to meet him downstairs in the Mess hall." Andreas had a bemused expression on his face. He was not an admirer of tardiness and once more Achil had proved how neglectful he could be.
They made their way along the corridor and down the winding stairs, moving through the door at the end which was open enough to let a shrill blast of cold air invigorate them. Andreas tossed Achil an apple to munch on, thinking that since he had missed breakfast a little something to eat was better than nothing to eat at all.
They caught up to Nicholas, who was leaning up against a wall talking about his exploits to some maidens of the city. Andreas took him by the arm and gave him a playful tug.
“Sorry ladies duty calls,” said Andreas as he pulled Nicholas away from his future conquests.
“Now you Egrain live where?” asked Nicholas quickly.
She pointed to a tall long building. Nicholas smartly agreed to call on her that evening before saying his goodbyes, and chased after Achil and Andreas.
“What are you smiling about?” a bemused Achil enquired.
“I think I may have a date. And look she has to be wealthy to live in such a large house.”
Nicholas pointed in the direction of her home.
Achil laughed. “Maybe, except that happens to be one of the grain stores."
Andreas chuckled. “Nice one Nicholas, it appears you’re finally going to get your oats.”
Nicholas shook his head, disappointment etched on his face, but also there was a grudging respect for the joke played on him. Perhaps he had misunderstood the directions, and actually Egrain really did wish to see him later. Nicholas gestured for them to turn down a narrow street. The meeting had been altered to take place not in the palace of the Kings, but the top floor of Euclid’s Tower which was well underway to being rebuilt.
“When do you think we’ll be asked to leave for the Lands of Mead?” asked Nicholas unable to disguise his enthusiasm and anticipation for the adventure ahead.
“The Mead and the rest,” replied Achil. “We’ll be asked to head right into the heart of the Imperium. And I’m sure it will be soon. We need to find out what plans are being made against us. You can be sure that Jin is plotting some reaction to the defeat he suffered here.”
Both Andreas and Nicholas gave Achil a sceptical look as he spoke.
“I don't think he will even call it a defeat, he cannot afford to,” said Andreas.
Achil’s tone became grim; he had a deep sense of foreboding for what he felt was to come. “One day soon, they’ll come back. And the next time they do, they'll make sure they don't leave.” The sooner they were on their way the quicker it would be that they knew what the Imperium was planning.
“What matters is not whether we lose but the manner of our defeat,” muttered Andreas darkly. “If we should be overcome then let it be with a sword at our enemy's throat, rather that than have us suffocating behind walls, in a city that would become our tomb.”
Nicholas shifted uncomfortably this was the first time he and Achil had heard Andreas speak in such a way.
“Anyway, long before the Mandrake return this way; we shall wreak havoc by seeding such discontent, that they’ll be too busy fighting among themselves to bother with us. That’s the plan anyway.” Achil’s mood lightened once more at the thought that they were about to take action against their adversary.
The other two just shrugged, almost sympathetically, the strain they all felt often manifested itself in bouts of sober reflection regarding their fate, and that it still lay very much in the balance.
They followed the path down The Parade Accordier and walked hurriedly beneath statues of past heroes of the City which led right up to the steps of Euclid’s Tower. Nishga had been waiting for them to arrive. They silently greeted her and entered through large doors made of thick Thavma wood. An Adjutant rose from behind his desk in the atrium. Guided them to the Chamber where King Paladin was waiting for them, with him was the Alchemist, and the four Elementals. King Paladin looking up sa
w Achil and his companions standing at the door and waved them forward. On the table were set out maps of what the Finns presumed the Central Kingdoms looked like. The top map contained the lands of the Mead. Upper and lower Mead, that stretched the entire eastern border of Findolin. The King excitedly tapped his pencil on the map.
“Gather round, gather round,” he said sombrely. “We have been discussing the strategy to be adopted. Agoran can you fill them in.”
The King had a youthful face which was a sharp contrast to his prematurely greying hair that rested on his back. His mind though alert and quick to humour, had certainly aged with the weight of responsibility upon it. If war and hardship, rather than peace and harmony were the test of what made a King, then he had certainly earned his station.
Agoran cleared his throat before giving a short account of their plans. After he had finished there was a stoic silence as the information was being slowly digested. The four looked at each other; no one was willing to be the first to comment.
“Look.” Achil and Andreas spoke up at the same time. Andreas quickly gestured for Achil to continue.
“I do not believe your idea goes far enough. I understand the need to be cautious but that need is long gone and it was lost the first time an enemy catapult fired heavy boulders into our city.”
The King threw his pencil down on the hard table, frustrated by such a reaction. Achil, who was never one to hold back his opinions, stood firm to what he wished to say.
“With respect if we are to succeed in disrupting the Imperium. We will need one thing, specifically that’s money and lots of it, enough to bribe officials and to supply arms to rebels. If we can organise civil unrest they might have a full blown civil war on their hands, then and only then might we get the result that benefit’s us.”
The King looked down at the map.
“What about the Wrath,” said King Paladin gravely. “And the Vendigo you can be sure they cannot be bought. These are his instruments of fear and oppression. And who knows what else he may have. Any insurrection would be ruthlessly put down before it started. The Arms and Gold you speak of could return to haunt us. I suggest a compromise. We will give you as much as you need to help those that require it, who are still willing to stand against a tyrant, but not so much as to draw attention to yourselves or to us.”
They all understood the risks required for such a mission to succeed. Achil’s plan was more daring, more costly and more time consuming; and time was a luxury they did not have and so they devised a more audacious plot.
“So we shall not aim to just find out what diabolical act awaits us,” continued Achil his eyes fixed on the King. “But shall with resolve head for Jinopolis the Capital City of the Mandrake Empire, and, if as we suspect it is rotten to the core, then perhaps we can disrupt their virulent machinations for a little while at least, which will afford us time to recover our main strength, so that should they strike at us again, we will be better prepared to repel their assault.”
The King looked at everyone standing around the table. Achil drew in his breath; the next decision was the most difficult. The King met Achil’s gaze.
“So be it, but my less risky path which you believe to be wrong would have left you alive. I fear the road you intend taking will not. But if this council believes that that is the best way forward, I will not argue the point. What do you require for such a perilous journey?”
Achil smiled awkwardly.
“Well there are four Elementals, and four of us, how about the transfer of their powers to us.”
“We will give you all the help we can, but we dare not lose the powers of the elementals to Jin, so the answer to that request is no," said The King with mock irritation. “Agoran will provide you with everything you need for your clandestine activities to be a success. If there’s nothing else you four are dismissed.”
The King tiredly smiled as he stared back at the map. He was once more talking to Agoran, who was leaning forward over the table, and as he swept his hand across a large section of it, the four of them departed. A courtier came in, a tall thin surly looking man, in bright ceremonial robes, and dark breeches, that hung comfortably over his soft leather boots; he handed Agoran a piece of paper.
“Achil wait a moment, we have just received some disturbing news,” spoke Agoran bitterly. “It’s that Marshal Ti of theirs, apparently he still lives.”
Both Andreas and Achil looked back at him in disbelief.
“We saw him run through, not only that they believed him fatally wounded also, otherwise why send the Wolfmen after us,” Andreas's voice shared his friend's incredulity over the news.
Agoran tore the piece of paper up in his hands and threw it in the bin beneath the table.
“Well it appears you didn’t fatally wound him enough," said Agoran despairingly. “Or perhaps you did but there was some sorcery at work that we do not know of, or maybe the dispatch is wrong. I’m afraid there will be things both for good and ill that we will hear of, and only when you are there will you discover the truth of them. I will see you later anyway.”
Agoran thoughtfully watched them leave before turning his attention back to the plans laid out in front of him. The King had barely flinched at the news and continued speaking.
“What do you think?” murmured Andreas as they left.
"I think there's a lot more to Marshal Ti than we know he is originally from Askalon and they are notoriously hard to kill."
They walked through the atrium, the guards jumped to attention as they passed. Achil barely noticed them, his remoteness the consequence of the news that Marshal Ti still lived; Andreas by his side added to their brooding. Nicholas and Nishga were walking behind them and quietly talked about the journey ahead.
“I think our mission just got a little bit more difficult,” Achil shrugged in a matter of fact manner. “The truth is that we simply don't know enough about the inner workings of that Empire of theirs. We know that Jin is resourceful, ruthless, powerful, and single-minded; in fact he is your typical tyrant. We believe he holds all the power. But does he? The more I think about it, the more puzzled I become. If you think back there was something Marshal Ti said when I challenged him to single combat, that it held no value to him, and therefore he simply wouldn’t do it, and remember when the Seer and Kranz had a sword to Jin’s throat. He again offered them rich rewards if they would join with him, and as Elementals, work for him. This may sound absurd to us but their empire could be run by the craving of more and more wealth and power. To us money; and power for that matter, are nothing more than tools the way a hammer and sword are; and are only wielded by those responsible enough to use them, but to them it could be something more, it could be that they worship them like Gods, and are always chasing after them, or maybe such things are like a drug that they cannot get enough of. That blinds them to all else until they are willing to commit any atrocity to satisfy their carnal need.”
“Actually that would explain why the Wrath are fanatically loyal to their Emperor,” replied Andreas. “And it would also explain the mindless obedience of the Vendigo.”
“You’re right,” said Achil. “The Emperor may have the authority to move vast armies but he cannot do it at will, there are others who are in control, they are the ones with the true power. And the sooner we leave, the sooner the mystery that surrounds the Mandrake ends, we are too beholden to rumour and speculation and that‘s getting us nowhere.”
The cobbled street beneath their feet seemed to rasp at the touch of the metal studs of their heavy boots. While Nishga wore soft shoes that made no sound and seemed to cradle her feet against the stones. On the way back to Achil’s chambers, they stopped off at the main square. The smells that were emanating from the many market stools were an infusion of herbs, spices, meats, that came from all over Suberia and overpowered even the smell of soot and ash. It was by disguising themselves as merchants that they would smuggle themselves into the capital city of the Mandrake Empire. As they walked passed e
ach stool in turn, people would approach them with items both affordable and not. Achil stopped to admire some carpets that had been transported from the Central Kingdoms. They had borders all around from corner to corner that ran like grape vines, in the centre of which were displayed an assortment of woven pictorial flowers some he recognised, some he did not. As he felt the material the trader came round to speak to him.
“Hallo there sir, may I indulge your ears a moment,” The man sounded a little coarse. He was a small tubby fellow; the rim of his cloak was worn from being dragged along the ground too much. His eyes were sharp, insistent, with a bulbous nose and short cropped hair. By the look of him he had made a good living from his small market stall, as his stomach reached Achil before any other part of his body did.
“Actually I’m just having a look,” Achil looked down at the man impassively.
“By all means feel that," the man thrust the fabric into Achil's hand. "You’ll never find such quality anywhere. It the finest woven cloth money can buy,” The man had his hands on his belt which was unsuccessfully helping him to hold his trousers up, the excitement of making a sale, making him breath more heavily than his frame would allow.
“How much is this one going for. It's an interesting design, one I haven’t seen before.” Achil’s hand ran across the top of the carpet, its veneer was soft.
“It's from Quinn you know good quality. And its only ten golden pieces, a bargain if ever there was one.” The man's eye brows seemed to dance as if trying to charm the buyer into a purchase.
“I don’t know,” Achil frowned dramatically; he did love the sabre rattling of haggling. “Ten gold pieces way too much, how about two?”
The trader had a look of mock shock on his face. “Two gold pieces, two. Think of my parents, think of my family, think of my business, all those mouths to feed, surely you’re not serious.” The trader grabbed the arm of someone who was also admiring the carpets laid out on his stall. “Sir, he says two gold pieces that’s robbery.” The trader let go of the man's arm, who having a bemused grin on his face decided to stay and watch the exchange further.
“I tell you what I’ll do for you. I can see you’re an honest man who doesn’t mean to rob me of my living. We’ll just say you made a mistake. How about we call it eight gold pieces?” The mans face seemed to droop, his eyebrows now began to sag as if he felt a great hardship coming on.
“That’s still too steep for me, how about four gold pieces.” Achil tried to look stern but the trader's mannerisms, such as throwing his arms up in the air in shock looked too comical. It was all Achil could do to keep from laughing.
“Before I say another word I want you to know I am going to forgive you. You don’t mean to cut off my right hand like this. So, how’s about six gold pieces I can’t say fairer than that.” The man's face looked crestfallen except for the glint in his eyes.
“Well.” Achil felt the carpet once more impassively. “You could say fairer than that by agreeing to five gold pieces.”
The man clutched his chest as though he were in great pain. “Well before I die from the disappointment of giving away such a bargain, I’d best cave in, five gold pieces it is. Though what my family and friends would say I don’t know.”
“They’d probably say you’re a good businessmen,” said Achil, taking five gold pieces from a pouch in his pocket.
The man rolled the blanket up and handed it to him, with a wink and a smile.
Achil placed the blanket beneath one arm. “Tell me you say these blankets come from the Central Plains. How far have you come?” Achil eyed the trader casually.
“I pick my wears up on the silk road at the crossing at Horrazim in the lands of the Mead. That’s where I get most of me trade goods. If there’s anything you want, I can get it for you.” The trader looked encouraged by the sale he had just made, and thought that he might be able to turn Achil into one of his regulars.
“That’s fine, thanks once more.” He had to jostle himself free of the small crowed that had gathered round the man's stool and catching sight of Nishga gestured for her to follow him.
“Come, let's return to my chambers,” said Achil.
“Andreas and Nicholas have gone back to their rooms, to prepare for our travels.”
Nishga held Achil casually by the arm as they walked. Her hair gently ushered away from her eyes by a cool breeze. They walked away from the Market place on to a long promenade flanked by statues that stood prominently and stoically above them. This was a wide avenue which cut in half the royal gardens. The apple blossom on the trees shone in the sunlight like torches lighting their path. Achil lifted the blanket over his shoulder.
“When I spoke to that trader, he told me the main route merchants take is the road to Horrazim, have you heard of it?” Achil nodded as if agreeing with his own opinion, his face was more pensive than usual.
“I don’t recall the town,” Nishga looked up, and sighed. “Horrazim it is then. And after that do you know the path to follow?”
Achil smiled with quiet determination. “Yes. Then my dear, it's into the unknown.”
Nishga shrugged at those words. “Well that’s good; I always like visiting new places, especially those not on the map. The only problem I have is that I never know what to pack for such journeys.”
Nishga turned to face Achil, who stood staring at her; he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
“I would suggest your Crystal.”
They were close to the palace of the Kings. The guards stood at the gates and saluted as they passed by. Proud banners displayed a golden crown with an eagle hovering over it stood in rows waving at the two of them as they walked beneath. They were rustling quietly in the breeze as if trying not to disturb the residents of the castle. In the centre of the castle square was a bronze statue on a plinth of an ancient King on horse back. It was the founder of the city. Just behind it a man approached them.
“Sir would you like us to set the table for you and your guest.” He was a tall lanky man who walked with a slight limp due to one leg being slightly longer than the other.
“Thank you Nash there will be a few more joining us I believe.” Achil gestured behind him as though he were being followed.
The attendant took the blanket from Achil and hurried off in the direction of Achil’s chambers to prepare the table. Achil directed Nishga to a near by bench. Where they sat talking, soon enough Andreas and Nicholas turned up and the four of them made their way to dinner. As they entered there were people placing food on a large central table with bottles of wine on either end around which were situated goblets. There was a piping hot goose, a small piglet, a steaming lamb shank, vegetables of all shapes and sizes and two bowls of fruit.
Nicholas did not wait for any invitation to be seated; he went straight for the table. And poured himself a goblet of wine, he jabbed his fork into the lamb shank and cut a piece off and placed it on his plate.
The others stared at him and smiled. Nicholas had not changed since the days of their first meeting; he still had his priorities in the right place. It was not long before everyone was heartily eating.
There was a heavy knock on the door. It was Agoran.
“I’ve just finished with the King and wanted to tell you what we feel should be done.” Agoran walked over to the table and sat himself down at its head. He looked them all over. His face seemed grim as though he knew he were the bringer of bad news.
“So when do we leave?” Achil spoke already armed with what he thought the answer would be. The others also stopped eating and just stared at Agoran.
“We would like you to leave tomorrow. Everything is being currently prepared for you to resemble merchants and traders,” said Agoran quietly, as though not wishing to be overheard. “The King and I believe that there should be no time limit for what you have to do, but you do need to understand we will need a year to prepare for any further attacks. We do not know what awaits you out there; all we have are a few brief despatches from
our spies and rumour conjecture and hearsay, nothing significant. Do you have any idea as to where to head to first?” Agoran directed the question to Achil who would lead the group.
“We intend first stopping off at Horrazim in the land of the Mead.”
Agoran nodded. “That’s good, I have here papers, and they say you are part of a new order of Guild Merchants from Upper Mead. I will not go into how we appropriated them; you all know that you are not the first group to be sent into the Imperium. There are others like you, some left many months ago. Each group has a different task. Everyone in the Mandrake has such papers as these. It ensures safe travel from city to city and place to place. Also you will need this. It is a certificate of the Merchant's guild.”
He passed a small scroll to Achil, with the papers of identification.
“You must be careful. No one is to know you are leaving or where you are headed. There are undoubtedly Mandrake spies among us. So there must be no careless talk. There will be four horses and a wagon at the east gatehouse at dawn. After this briefing you should head to your rooms, get as much rest as you can and leave at sunrise. The King asked me to tell you be vigilant at all times, expect anything and trust no one. We do not yet know all the weapons both natural and unnatural currently at the disposal of Jin. We will give you enough gold for your journey. When you reach Horrazim you should try to make twice as much again from selling the trade goods that will go with you. I cannot stress enough how important this task is, any questions?”
The four truly now felt like conspirators. They looked at each other then back at Agoran. It was Andreas who was first to voice an opinion.
“Does the King perceive the Mandrake ready to return? I was expecting some idea at least of what we might face.”
Agoran leant forward on the table. “Honestly. You will rely on your wits as never before. But you are all ready. You have fought together on many occasions. What you are about to do is a different type of battle. You must be at all times like actors in a play. I know I do not have to tell you this but there can be no getting drunk or doing anything that might loosen your tongues. From tomorrow and for some many months to come you will be impostors in a foreign land relying on each other. Friendships will be tested. Courage required. At all times you must remain focused as to the ends you need to achieve. You two will have to pose as guards for Achil who will be the merchant among you. Nishga you will go as Achil’s wife. Remember to use the common tongue no breaking into the dialect of Osgaroth or Findolin even when you think you're on your own.”
There was a silence; Agoran waited a moment to see if there were any further questions. He then slowly rose from the table wished everyone luck, and a safe journey before departing. Three of them sat in silence, as though they had lost there appetite. Nicholas continued with his attack on the dinner table. Nothing it seemed was going to prevent him from eating and drinking as much as possible before he left.