"What concerns?" Electra asked.
"She seems a formidable sorceress, well versed in the magic arts. She very nearly bent my thoughts to her will. But she has some plan of working her magic on Blackwell that I fear may be foolhardy. She spent the day yesterday gazing into the crystal ball that she somehow found and rescued from Geoffrey’s soldiers. She says she will find the flaw in Blackwell’s character that will allow her to coerce him. That sounds a bit grandiose even for a sorceress. I thought you might like to know her thinking. Perhaps her recent accident has affected her sanity. The scars would indicate a powerful wound."
"Her scars seemed much improved this morning," Electra said. "But why are you concerned when her plan seeks to insure Helsop’s victory?"
Dagon stood up. "I was only trying to repay your help. I thought you might want to dissuade her from this folly."
"Then you think she has no chance of succeeding?"
"I doubt it. The trip alone over the mountains might kill her."
"She left this morning for Henge," Electra said.
"What!" Dagon jumped up, his voice angry. "You did not try to stop her?"
Electra frowned at Dagon. "I did try to stop her, but not for the reasons you suggest. My mother is a powerful woman. She is capable of doing what she seeks to do and more. Why she is so bent on helping you is my chief concern."
"I admit she has honed her skills in the black arts, but Blackwell is not some weak-willed ninny. If she tries a spell on him she may well end up in his dungeon." Dagon stopped abruptly. This was not going the way he had intended. "But I am sure it would not come to that. I will send someone after her, she can’t have gotten far. We could surely devise a better plan."
"I thank you for your concern," Electra said, though her voice was stiff. "My understanding is that Geoffrey has raised an army and will most certainly attack Helsop. Do you think Blackwell will come to your aid without my mother’s interference?"
"I think it is possible," Dagon said. "I believe that is Helsop’s best hope for survival."
"Then your real fear is that my mother may upset that possibility?"
Dagon looked away from Electra’s eyes. "Perhaps, if Blackwell believes I have sent her to influence him." He turned his gaze back to Electra. "I did not know she had already gone when I asked to speak with you."
"Yes," Electra said more softly, "I know."
"I will send men to fetch her. It could be dangerous for her as well as for Helsop."
"I agree about the danger, but you might save your men the trouble. They will not find her. The next you see of her she will likely be returning with Blackwell’s army at her heels."
"Despite your confidence, you do not seem overjoyed at the prospect. Do your loyalties lie with King Geoffrey?"
"I have no love of war, whoever emerges the victor," Electra said. "I would rather my mother felt as I do."
"I will try to bring her back, just the same," Dagon stated.
Chapter 30
Kingdom of Helsop
Avor grabbed his bow and ran to meet Corporal Lance at the King’s private archery range. Avor had seen the corporal practicing after hours at the range behind the army barracks and had stopped to reminisce with him about their adventure in the bear cave. "Meet me at the King’s Archery Field and we’ll practice together," Avor had said. "It is a better field."
Since then, Avor and Lance practiced together whenever both were free of other duties. Lance waved when he saw Avor coming. He fitted an arrow into his bow and aimed carefully at the target painted on a hay bale fifty feet away. He bent his strong bow and let fly. The arrow whistled through the air to puncture the target’s inner ring.
"Not bad," Avor said, as he plucked an arrow from the pile.
"I would like to qualify for the Archer’s Wing of the Guard before the army moves out," Lance said, "but I don’t know if I’ll have time. Word has it we’ll soon be on the march."
"I’ve heard the same rumors," Avor said, "though not from my father. He always stops talking about the campaign when I am nearby."
"He’s still not keen on you going, then," said Lance.
"I’ve stopped asking," Avor said. "I’ve got a different plan now."
Lance looked at Avor suspiciously. "What kind of plan? I know it’s rough being left behind and all, but your dad’s the king! You can’t cross him."
"He wants me to go. It is just my mother. She worries too much. I’ll bet your own mother would stop you from going if she could," Avor said.
Lance laughed heartily. "You’re right there. If my ma was queen you can bet I’d be some kind of do nothing advisor, uh, no insult intended."
"None taken," Avor said.
"So what’s your plan then?"
"My plan is to stop my mother from worrying."
Lance looked confused. "Well, good luck with that then."
When Avor left the archery range he walked back to the castle by way of the royal stables. He peered in to see that most of the horses were out for exercise and no grooms were in sight. He gave a carrot to his horse, Sassafras and brushed her down. Then he took the bucket of dye he had left hidden at the back of her stall and began to paint brown splotches on her white coat. When he was finished he moved her to a stall in the adjoining barn. He didn’t want anyone noticing his horse was still there while he was gone. He hated leaving Sassafras behind, but he could hardly infiltrate his father’s army disguised as a lowly recruit while mounted on a horse like an officer.
He checked the tackle room to make sure his pilfered army tunic was still hidden on the top shelf along with the letter for his mother. He opened the letter and reread it.
Dear Mother,
Father has given me permission to observe the rebuilding of the South Bridge to further educate me in engineering techniques. I am sorry there was no time to say goodbye this morning but he wanted me to go along with the soldiers assigned to guard the bridge and they are leaving quite early this morning. I feel this is a wonderful opportunity for me and I do not want to miss it. I may be gone for several days, so please know that I am in good hands. I will return soon, much the wiser. Love, Avor
Avor decided the letter should allay his mother’s fears for his safety. He replaced the items on the shelf. He was quite sure the army’s march on Helsop was imminent, most likely they would leave on the morrow at dawn. He added a bottle of yellow dye to his stash of items. No one would recognize the blonde recruit. He was ready.
Chapter 31
Kingdom of Fernland
Take the Thief lay dreaming; Harem dancers twirled seductively around his couch, beckoning with their hands, calling him to come and join them in their dance. A flute played in the background, but it sounded too loud, out of rhythm, too familiar, not really like a flute at all.
As he awakened to the sound of the morning bugle, the thief pulled his blankets over his head. Today would likely be a repeat of the last few days. It was all too much—the marching, the saluting, the mock battles. I must find a way to escape, he thought, as he tried to slip back into his dream.
The noise of soldiers waking close to him brought him back to reality. They slept on blankets on the ground, just outside the castle walls, more recruits every day as the Royal Guard sought out and swore in every likely candidate they could find. Take kept his eyes open for ways to escape. With all the new recruits he thought today might be the day. If he could slip away unnoticed, paint the remainder of his tickets and sell them in the marketplace, he could stay out of sight until the bridge was finished, then head south with money in his pockets. There was too much confusion for those in charge to waste time looking for one missing soldier. He would wait for a distraction, and hide until he could find a way to slip back unnoticed through the castle gate. That was the plan, anyway.
"That was the bugle, ya' toadies, not some dream like ya' was hopin'," the sergeant bellowed. “The lot 'a youse got a date with 'is Majesty this mornin' so ya'd best be up spittin' and polishin' fer all yer wo
rth. That means dervishes too." The sergeant pulled the cover off the thief's body and hurled it back at his head.
The drafted recruits rolled off their blankets muttering and cursing quietly as they hurried to dress and join the other soldiers for morning inspection.
"What ya' thinkin' it means, the King hisself comin' to 'ave a look?" the recruit next to the thief asked.
"It would break a long record if it were anything good," Take said.
"Aye, it would that," the man said as he rubbed his boot with a sleeve.
They stood shivering in their line-up, at attention, for over an hour before they heard the trumpet fanfare announcing the King's arrival. King Geoffrey rode into view surrounded by his personal guards. He signaled for them to halt and rode alone past the line of recruits, looking them over carefully. He returned to the center of the line and faced them.
"Today we march in defense of our kingdom," he shouted.
The recruits looked from side to side without moving their heads.
"We will rain terror on Dagon and his band of outlaws," the king continued.
The recruits shifted their weight imperceptibly from foot to foot.
"We will show him he cannot invade our land, burn our bridge and kidnap our soldiers. We will make them pay for his villainy."
The recruits cast worried glances at their king.
The King's Guard shouted enthusiastically and waved their weapons. The captains of the recruits shouted and waved their swords in a menacing way at the recruits. The recruits took the hint and shouted as well.
"Good men," the King shouted. "Captains, marshal your troops."
The trumpeters played a long fanfare ending in a charge and the army was on its way north.
Take the Thief could hardly believe this terrible turn of events. He stood immobile for a second and was pushed into movement by the soldier behind him. His sergeant eyed him suspiciously as he shouted out, "Pick up the pace, Toadies."
Chapter 32
Castle at Henge
Inside his castle overlooking the busy harbor of Henge City, Prince Blackwell sat quietly at his desk with his arms folded in front of him as his father, Phinneas Blackwell the Elder, spoke.
"King Geoffrey's on the move. Our scouts have confirmed it. He's going after Dagon. We can be there at Helsop to meet him. We can retake the hill land between Helsop and the northern forest if we’re lucky. This is our chance to get even, to take down that upstart Geoffrey. I can feel it. I tell you there's nothing so sweet as revenge." He thumped his wooden leg on the floor for emphasis.
"And tell me again, Father, why should I care about your ancient feud with Geoffrey?"
Blackwell's father banged his cane on top of his son’s desk. "Because I'm your father," he shouted. "Because my fight is your fight. Because I've waited and waited and now it's time. He defeated me, us, all of Henge, when I was your age. He was young, insignificant, like Dagon. It should not have happened. He took what was mine and I will have it back!" The old king struggled to his feet and jabbed the air with his cane, stopping inches from his son’s nose.
Prince Blackwell sat unmoved by his father’s display. "But it is me that has to get it back for you and I do not believe it is worth the risk. I cannot justify putting my army in jeopardy to satisfy your lust for revenge. What is the hill land to us? If we took it back, Helsop would soon spread out over the hill land, with farms and livestock. Better to let Geoffrey keep Dagon and his lot in Helsop at bay. Dagon has already become too independent for my liking. If they have their own source of meat and grain, our source of low cost armaments is compromised. Do you not see they will no longer be as compelled to sell to us? And, it follows that without their inexpensive armaments our army is not as well equipped as it would otherwise be."
His father pounded the desk with his cane. "You would have no army without me, no land, no title, nothing. What kind of empty clothes are you? You could not be my son. Lucky your mother is dead or I would have her locked up for bearing me some cleric's child."
"Calm yourself, Father; I have reservations about your plan. I would be empty clothes indeed if I allowed you to do my thinking for me."
His father sat down again, tapping his cane angrily as he considered how best to win his argument.
Prince Blackwell stood and looked out his window at the grounds that surrounded his castle. He watched a carriage roll up to the gate. He caught a glimpse of the lady inside as she leaned out to speak to the gatekeeper. She was quite beautiful with raven black hair and creamy white skin. She handed the gatekeeper a red envelope, then spoke to the carriage driver who quickly snapped the reins and drove the carriage away.
Blackwell found the scene intriguing. He wanted to call out, to stop the carriage, to find out more about the dark-haired beauty inside. Reluctantly, he turned his attention back to his father's insistent voice.
"We may never have this opportunity again. Geoffrey acts in haste for once; he is the reckless one in his lust for revenge against Dagon for daring to burn his bridge. I don’t know why he is acting so precipitously. He seems not to see beyond Dagon and Helsop. The bulk of his troops are still untrained recruits. It is unlike him to be so rash. We must take advantage. Think of it--a foothold in Geoffrey's kingdom. The next step could be the northern forest."
"Are you not seeing eggs and counting chicks?" Prince Blackwell asked.
His father glowered at him. "I have thought this through. The eggs are real and with our help they will hatch. Geoffrey will make a quick raid that will finish off Dagon, but Geoffrey will take losses. Dagon is not stupid and he will fight with all he has. Geoffrey will be weakened and we can swoop in to defeat him before he can retreat. He will flee with what’s left of his army and we will move in to establish our own outpost in the hill land."
Blackwell saw the red envelope in the hand of the servant who stood nervously in the doorway. "What is it?" he asked.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Sire," the servant said. "The gatekeeper said this note may be important but he has no way of knowing for sure."
"Bring it in, then," Prince Blackwell said, feeling strangely excited. He opened the red envelope and read the brief note inside. It said simply, "I have information that may bear on your decision." It was unsigned.
"Who left this?" Prince Blackwell demanded.
"A lady in a carriage," the servant said.
Prince Blackwell looked at him curiously. "What was her name?"
"I don't know," the servant said. "She told the gatekeeper she could be reached at the Seafarer's Inn."
"Bring her here at once," Blackwell said.
"What nuisance is this?" his father asked. "We are having an important conference here. What is that note?"
"I will let you know if this note is of any concern after I speak to its author. I have heard your views, Father, and I understand your position. Our discussion is completed."
Blackwell waited for his father to leave. His father sat stubbornly in his chair, ready to continue his argument. Prince Blackwell sighed, bowed to his father and walked to the door of his meeting room, motioning to his servant.
"When the lady arrives I will meet with her in the garden room." He looked back briefly. "Good day to you Father," he said, and strode purposefully out of the room.
Chapter 33
Castle at Henge
Blackwell stopped at his dressing room on his way to the garden room. His servant helped him change from his morning clothes to the silver, fur-trimmed robe he wore to receive dignitaries. He checked his appearance in the mirror. His hair was still dark and his face unlined for all his thirty nine years. He walked along the corridor with his servant close behind. On an impulse he stopped and turned. His servant almost lost his balance, stopping quickly to avoid a collision. Blackwell seemed not to notice.
"We will have tea," he said.
In the garden room Blackwell sat in a little alcove flanked on either side by large pots of red roses in bloom. The glassed-in room was warm an
d filled with the fragrance of tropical plants. Bananas and mangos hung from the branches of trees growing out of large earthen ware pots. It was Prince Blackwell’s favorite room.
He watched from the window for his carriage to arrive. Finally he saw it coming through the gate, bearing the mysterious note writer. She wore a red gown and rubies around her neck that caught the sun as she walked gracefully toward the castle. Blackwell thought her quite beautiful.
"The lady has arrived, Sire," his servant announced.
"Has she identified herself?" Blackwell asked.
"No, Sire, she has not."
Blackwell rested his chin on his folded hand, a puzzled expression on his face. "Show her in. Hold off on the tea until I give you a sign."
The servant bowed as he left to usher in Serafina.
"M'Lady, His Royal Highness, Prince Blackwell,” the servant bellowed. "Sire, ah… M'Lady." He bowed and started backwards toward the door.
Blackwell stood and indicated a chair opposite him. "Will you sit, M'Lady?"
Serafina sat on the chair he indicated, settling her satin gown around her. "Thank you," she said.
"I do not believe we have met," Prince Blackwell said cordially. "You are…?"
"A spy," Serafina said, smiling.
Blackwell noted how the smile added to her beauty. "I see." He saw his servant hovering nervously in the doorway. He held up his hand casually to stop the servant from running to fetch the guards. "And in your note you alluded to a decision. What decision is it that concerns you?"
"Your decision as to whether or not you will send your army to Dagon’s aid," Serafina said.
At this Blackwell's demeanor changed. He sat up straight, unsmiling. "I believe the time for games has ended. Please tell me who you are and why you have imposed on my hospitality."
"I have told you the role I play, that of spy. I have information that is vital to your decision. Dagon will win with or without your help. It would be best for you to be on the winning side."
"I am overwhelmed by your audacity, M'Lady, and by your naiveté. I can only guess that you are some member of Dagon's family, sent to beguile me. I fear you have wasted your time and mine." Blackwell stood up to end the interview.