"Well, I have to admit," Honmour observed from his saddle. "Your dad is full of surprises."
"He does tend to understate on key details," Kaltor said with a sigh.
"No," Jensai disagreed. "He said an ancient city was here and they were excavating it."
"Not an entire city," Kaltor said. "He said he just wanted help with one sealed room."
The ancient city spanned across the valley’s belly for hundreds of yards in either direction. Even just before dawn, hundreds of workers crawled over the ridges and valleys like small bugs consuming a huge, rocky corpse one piece at a time. At the southern-most part of the camp a number of tents provided living quarters for the miners, adjacent to the steep drop toward the river. The norther portion sported a wooden tavern, a mercantile and other necessities.
The Battleborns rode along the northern edge of the giant valley, following the road as it slowly curved left to cut straight through the camp’s center. A horn sounded from a tower in the middle of camp and a watchman pointed in their direction.
"Guess we should go introduce ourselves," Honmour suggested. "Unless you’d rather lure them into the woods for hunting practice," Already a small group of men on horses were gathered at the camp’s center, swords and axes flashing in the early morning light.
"They’ve probably had bandit issues, too," Kaltor assumed. "It’s no surprise they’re so suspicious. Come on."
They followed the road at a leisurely pace, buying them time to evaluate the situation. Gereth did lie about one thing, Kaltor thought. The king DEFINITELY is involved in this project. There’s no way he could recruit so many workers on his personal salary. The small group of riders approaching them spread out. Three men brandished heavy weapons, their chainmail covered in early morning dew. Two others, dressed in leather armor with drawn bows, spread out to flank them on either side.
"Kaltor," Jensai said quietly. "If those are regular miners, I’m a milk maid."
"Looks like they hired mercenaries for protection," Honmour observed. "Trouble?"
"Only if they feel like showing off," Kaltor answered.
"Or they recognize us and feel threatened," Honmour chimed in.
"Or both," Jensai stated, his left hand sliding toward his spear shaft.
Of course I had to strap a dozen throwing blades around my shoulders last night, Kaltor thought sarcastically. That won’t help tensions at all.
They did not change their pace, however, but continued trotting toward the tents as if the mercenaries were merely an emissary offering a welcome greeting. By now word had spread around the camp of their approach and a couple dozen men were leaving their tents, pointing their way and going about their duties.
They don’t seem worried, Kaltor thought. Or even interested.
"You first, Kaltor," Honmour muttered. "Your dad got us into this, plus Master Taneth says you’re the leader."
"Lucky me," Kaltor grumbled with an elaborate eye-roll.
The mercenary in the middle heeled his horse ahead of the others, his two friends taking positions a half a stride behind him. They pulled up short a few paces from Kaltor, eyeing him quietly. Their armor shone a little too brightly, giving the impression that it only served a ceremonial purpose. The notches in their axes and blades, however, attested to their experience against other armored opponents.
"I am Kaltor Stratagar," Kaltor announced. "Lord Gereth asked us to ride ahead and alert the camp. We were attacked in the night and have wounded and dead to tend to."
"I am Theldren," their leader said. He cocked his head to one side, glancing toward his comrade on the right, battleaxe in hand. "I don’t think Lord Gereth ever mentioned his son’s name."
"Could be bandits trying to sneak their way into camp," the third soldier added.
Jensai laughed, while all three mercenaries glanced toward each other uneasily. "Oh," he managed to add in between labored breaths. "You were serious?" He tried to calm himself, sitting up straight in his saddle in between sudden bouts of laughter.
We both know any bandits would consider riding up to their enemies in daylight a suicidal venture, Kaltor thought bitterly. But making our hosts feel stupid won’t prompt them to stop pointing arrows at us.
"Any other questions?" Kaltor asked, trying to distract them from Jensai’s antics. The last two mercenaries circled within earshot, their bows still drawn tight. "Because we need to discuss some matters with Prince Melshek before Lord Gereth arrives. As in NOW."
This time all five men exchanged confused glances and then burst out laughing. Bows were relaxed. Weapons were lowered. "Gereth mentioned his son, Kaltor, would be along. You have your mother’s eyes," the man in the middle interjected. "And if you’re willing to take it upon yourself to wake Prince Melshek before his requested hour and survive, I will pay for your first week’s lodgings myself," Without another word, but with considerable laughter, they turned and urged their horses back to camp.
"Well, this is intriguing," Honmour remarked. "I say we let Kaltor wake the good prince while we discuss this breakfast of theirs and the lodgings that man mentioned," With a mischievous grin he added, "Perhaps we should look into getting Kaltor some armor for the job. Waking a nobleman at this hour is right up there with fighting a viper hound. Worse, because the hound at least finds your presence inviting."
"I wasn’t planning on making you come along," Kaltor explained as they reached the first buildings, which watchmen perched atop with horns in case of an attack. "I hate chatting with a soft, grubby noble so much I wouldn’t wish it on either of you."
"Yet another part of your past you’ve neglected to tell us of," Jensai snapped. "Let’s go eat, Honmour," They pulled ahead, following the mercenaries to a large supply tent already full of hungry customers.
Kaltor sighed. I don’t know why it bothers them so much. We all have our secrets. We’ve been trained to protect them. Maybe they don’t like the idea of me commanding the Battleborn someday. If only I could tell them that once Keevan is found, I’m gone! Perhaps they’ll even come with me.
He took his time as he rode, soaking in the scene. The more luxurious tents were on his right, the homes of some small noble families Melshek and Gereth had managed to bring along. On the left a large number of small tents, each with a pile of mining supplies before it, set the difference in economic class quite firmly within the camp.
It did not take long to find Melshek’s tent. Not only did his tabard stand a good twenty feet above his shelter, but the pavilion itself was the second largest in the camp. Only the supply tent where everyone ate was more spacious.
I see your sense of presentation has not diminished over time, Kaltor thought. He swung one leg out of the saddle to dismount, and then thought better of it. Two guards stood outside the front door, spears held firmly against the ground, eyes cold but tired from a night of boredom. He fought against a mischievous smile as an idea took root.
"Good morning gentlemen," Kaltor whispered softly. "Excuse me," He leaned over casually and rode past them. At the next tent, where a heavy cart blocked the guards’ view, he circled back to the rear of Melshek’s home. He carefully sliced a hole in the canvas itself and strode in, horse and all.
The thick canvas effectively blocked the morning light, leaving the tent’s interior black and quiet as a cloudy, noiseless night. With a small burst of Varadour power Kaltor took a black-and-white view of his surroundings, rode his horse around a desk and stopped right in front of the large bed, full of pillows and thick fur blankets.
This man knows nothing of security, Kaltor considered disgustedly. I know he’s the last son in line for the throne, but this is crazy— a boy could kill this man! It wouldn’t even take an assassin!
Of the two heads protruding from the blankets, he picked the head with short hair and circled carefully to that side of the bed. It was an ornately carved oak piece with a thick bug net hanging from each end of the bed posts like an overly elaborate decoration. I wonder what the mercenaries were so worried about? he
thought.
"Wake up, Prince," Kaltor said simply. "Gereth’s arri–"
The woman next to Melshek gasped in surprise and leapt into the air, eyes blazing a deep blue. A blast of brain-manipulating energy rocketed toward Kaltor’s head. By the Gods! He ducked just in time, dropping from his horse and hurling himself against the side of the bed and the floor, just out of range.
Melshek awoke suddenly. "What is it, Riv?" he demanded, hugging the covers as another blast of energy smashed into Kaltor’s horse. The poor animal pivoted and sprinted out of the tent, chased by imaginary predators.
The two soldiers appeared at the entrance, spears lowered, ‘til they saw the crazed horse and dove aside. The beast managed to dislodge one of the main poles holding up the entrance, collapsing that portion of the tent entirely.
Grabbing a throwing blade from each arm, Kaltor hurled them into the ties holding the bug net in place on the woman’s side of the bed. More energy sailed through the room as the sturdy cloth wrapped around the woman, causing angry screams and twists of frustration until the other ties tore free and sent her falling from the bed, tangled in a mess of cloth.
Melshek leapt from the bed in nothing but his linen small-clothes, whispering comfort into her ears as she finally calmed down. "What is it Riv?" Melshek said quietly, tearing a portion of the net with his bare hands to free her face.
"Intruder!" she gasped, pointing behind him. Melshek whirled, pulling a dagger from the-Gods-knew-where. At least he had the sense to not sleep unarmed.
"Hey, Melshek," Kaltor said with a smirk. "I was going to critique your security, but she seems rather effective after all."
Melshek sank to the ground with a relieved gasp. "Kaltor, you nearly killed us both!" he said with a chuckle. "I thought they taught you how to survive in those mountains, not how to get killed."
"I was getting bored," Kaltor replied simply. "I see you’ve done quite well," He nodded toward the woman. "You going to introduce us?"
Still chuckling, Melshek turned back to his wife, cutting the bug net aside and grabbing a cloak from wardrobe nearby. She stood a little shorter than Melshek, but her furious eyes gave one the impression of standing on a fragile foundation— one she was tempted to break beneath your feet in a heartbeat.
"Rivatha," Melshek said simply, "this is Gereth’s son, Kaltor. He’s training with Taneth a few leagues northeast of here."
A storm of shouts and the screeching of swords being drawn gathered outside, accompanied by orders to raise the poles and prepare for the worst. Three men entered through the freshly cut hole on the other side of the tent.
The two Varadours drew on their black-and-white vision and caught sight of Kaltor’s arsenal, drawing their weapons. The assassin-in-training raised his hands behind his head and gave Melshek a pleading look.
"Stand down!" Melshek called through the chaos. "All’s well, stand down!" Grunts and groans sounded outside as the poles for the front entryway were raised, and the mercenaries who’d welcomed them earlier entered the tent, Jensai and Honmour close behind.
"Is everything alright, my liege?" Theldren asked, hand still resting on his axe shaft, but he glanced toward Kaltor with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"Just a case of mistaken identity," Melshek said simply. "Prepare the medical tent for wounded and set aside a patch of earth for burying the dead. Lord Gereth will be arriving soon."
I don’t think I mentioned that, Kaltor noticed. Maybe he’s smarter than I thought.
The mercenary nodded at the command, failing to restrain a grin as he glanced Kaltor’s way. "It is already being attended to," Theldren promised. "Let’s finish breakfast, boys," They left quickly, waving their arms as they left to disperse the crowd forming outside. Jensai and Honmour followed him as he left, saluting the Prince on their way out.
"How did you know about Gereth’s arrival?" Kaltor asked.
Melshek gave him a surprised, measured stare. "My boy, the only reason you’d risk waking me by walking right up to my bed and simply speaking was if you were still anxious from a fight the night before. Your father and I have talked often of your training."
Rivatha appeared from behind them, Kaltor’s throwing blades in hand. "Try not to lose these," she suggested. "Their balance is perfect."
"Thank you, my lady," Kaltor replied. "I promise to be more cordial in the future."
"I would suggest you do so," Rivatha replied dangerously. "Next time I will aim lower and escape will be impossible," She turned from their conversation, calling to the soldiers at the door to summon her maids.
Kaltor nodded respectfully, already analyzing in his mind a couple of escape options should such a situation have actually ensued. Melshek pulled a pair of trousers, a belt, and a sword from his desk and started preparing for the day.
Kaltor walked to the desk as well, pulling a candle and flint from one of the drawers, and soon the tent was bathed in pale yellow candle-light. A horn sounded in the distance, three short bursts.
Melshek grinned. "Your father returns from his little expedition."
Kaltor nodded, pulling Gereth’s map from his shirt pocket and setting it on the table. "Is there anything I need to know from you before he arrives?" he asked.
Melshek glanced at the map curiously, then back at Kaltor, and grunted. "Well, thus far this place has been a historian’s dream," he answered, pulling his belt tight. "We’ve found histories about the city, old roads, pottery, whole buildings intact, things like that."
"But you didn’t commit so many resources just for that," Kaltor said. "You’re still hoping to find something from the Age of Tears," A half-dozen attendants entered, arms full of brushes, buckets of heated water, and other accoutrements. Melshek waved them away and they headed for the back room, exchanging greetings with Rivatha.
Melshek nodded. "Such a discovery, particularly a weapon, would impress the king and help keep the lesser nobles in line. Our neighbors are growing anxious. Suspicions are running high on both sides and we need to either make the first move or stop it before it starts."
Kaltor nodded. Yeah, Gereth would over-look such details. He’s devoted to the past. Wish he would remember it’s the future that can get you killed. "Gereth mentioned a door of some kind?"
Melshek opened a different drawer and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, handing it to Kaltor before snagging a tunic from his wardrobe. Unfolding the sketch, Kaltor took in the old languages scraped into the door frame. Instead of two door handles, a pair of carved handprints stood about the height of half a man. The lack of hinges suggested the door opened toward the inside.
"I assume you’ve tried pushing it open?" Kaltor asked.
"Obviously," Melshek answered. "Not only will it not move, but it’s not made of stone."
"What do you mean?" Kaltor asked, spreading the drawing atop the table to get a complete view. "The entire door is made of steel?"
"Something stronger," the prince responded. "Our strongest Sight Seekers, Varadours, and blacksmiths can’t penetrate it. It’s white and metallic, as if it were forged by the Maker himself."
"And the engravings?"
"Difficult to translate," Melshek replied. "They’re of a religious nature, so our translators aren’t sure what’s metaphorical or literal or both," He pulled a cloak on over his tunic, donned his boots, and headed for the door.
Kaltor followed him. "What are we sure of?" he asked.
"It contains something valuable," Melshek explained, nodding to the guards as he passed. "Something that will herald the return of a creature or tool from the Crippling. The translation is sketchy."
"How do we open it, then?" Kaltor asked, eyeing the guards cautiously. He had managed to get right to their master’s bed during their own watch. Their pride might not recover easily from such a blow, and their glares his way suggested as much, their grips tightening on their spears.
"It mentions the hands of a single Varadour," Melshek said. "From before the Crippling," He raised
his hand to his eyes to block the sun, turning to take in Gereth’s caravan from a distance as it worked its way toward the camp.
Kaltor’s stomach froze. Did Gereth betray my secret after all? he thought nervously. "That’s quite an issue," he said. "Are you suggesting we need to find a Remnant?"
Melshek rolled his eyes. "Do I look like a superstitious Peacebinder? No. But I think if a dozen strong Varadours center a finger and their full power on each hand engraved in that door we may just have a chance."
"Makes sense," Kaltor reasoned. "Taneth only trains the strongest Varadours. It just might work," He glanced around the camp, noting a collapsed tent and overturned containers of tools. "Think I’ll ever get my horse back?"
"Oh, give it an hour to work Rivatha’s energy out of its system," Melshek answered, with an uncaring wave. "It’ll be fine after that."
They approached the first wagon. Miners flooded the caravan, goods and coins in tow for trade. Gereth stood up atop his saddle, searching the crowd ‘til he found them. With a wide grin he heeled his mount their way, weaving through the tides of customers.
"See, Melshek?" Gereth said as he dismounted. "Told you I could convince Taneth to lend us a few of his pupils!"
"Yes," Melshek replied. "I’m sure having a head Peacebinder in tow, anxious to see her son, had nothing to do with Taneth finally giving in."
Gereth paused, smiling mischievously. "Of course not, no help whatsoever."
"I’ll bet," Melshek replied.
A woman screamed. A few men started to shout as an argument ensued. Krin stood atop a wagon, cracking a whip over the crowd’s heads. Energy massed within her, drawing the attention of every Varadour within a hundred yards.
"Mother!" Kaltor called, hurrying through the crowd. Gereth’s hand caught a firm hold on his shoulder, jerking him back.
"Easy, my son," Gereth said comfortingly. "The majority of the miners are Peacebinders, too. Krin’s got everything under control."
Of course, Kaltor realized. They wouldn’t bring her all this way just to see her son. She’s here to keep the miners in line. She can help keep the peace as a beloved religious leader. The people will respond better to her counsel than the whims of the upper class. "Let’s see what going on," he suggested, following Gereth as he and Melshek worked their way toward her.
Krin stood before the crowd, the wagon driver’s whip coiled tightly in her left hand. Her Varadour power and religious standing alone were enough to command respect, but her presence sealed the deal among the more ignorant half of the population, whether they were Peacebinders or not. One miner, a large burly man, knelt on the ground in front of her. Blood ran down the side of his head.
Looks like she whipped him in the ear, Kaltor observed. What did he do to deserve that? He glanced behind the wagon and saw the thief from the previous night, her tunic torn along the shoulder and down her side, her face bruised. Her arms curled around her chest as if suddenly gripped by intense cold.
Oh, he thought. That would do it. Though the crowd nodded in agreement as she lectured them on maintaining their good standing with the Gods, the burly Varadour did not look convinced. Behind the bleeding subject of Krin’s wrath, Kaltor caught a glimpse of a spear and half-drawn short sword.
Jensai and Honmour locked eyes with him, nodding in silent communication. This man and his friends would be watched from now on, just in case. The majority of the population had not realized Battleborn were involved, but once the word got out things would change.
"Lady Rivatha and I will discuss her fate," Krin said confidently. "That will suffice for now. Someone help this pig to the healing tent."
The crowd dispersed slowly until a few merchants took the initiative and started shouting their wares and pulling away from the caravan. In a few minutes, Krin had already commandeered the wagon she stood upon and started driving it toward Melshek’s tent.
"That’s quite a woman you have there, Gereth," Melshek observed. "She might even give Rivatha a run for her money,"
"I’m pretty sure that comparison is pointless," Gereth said simply. "Since they’re usually on the same side."
"True enough," Melshek chuckled. "Well, I’d say we’ve already had enough surprises for today," Turning to Kaltor, he said, "Call your friends over and I’ll show you to your tents. After that we’ll look into breakfast and see about opening that door."
Kaltor nodded. "Sounds good."
Even as the words left his lips he felt an odd foreboding in his chest. It was strong and all encompassing, so thick he felt that if he waved his arm he could push it aside, but persistent enough that such an action would fail to dispel it. He couldn’t help but think of the peace he’d felt when the viper hound was distracted. This feeling shared the same depth and power, but lacked even a semblance of comfort.
Something’s not right here, he thought. Time to talk to Mom.
Chapter 6