Chapter 11
For two days they followed the stranger into the uttermost east of the world. There on the rocky shores of the Eastern Sea they watched as he disappeared into a menacing old castle perched high upon a sea cliff. It was the night of the second day and the moon had not yet risen. Tristan used the darkness as cover to explore the outer walls of the castle. He could see men upon the battlements and hoped none glimpsed him as he moved quietly along the wall seeking some means of entrance. The front gate was undoubtedly barred against intruders; he doubted that knocking politely was a good idea. Suddenly he heard voices coming up behind him. He sought in vain for somewhere to conceal himself and reached for his sword, knowing it was too late. He saw one of the men raise a frightful looking club as he grasped his sword hilt. As the blade slid free of its sheath, his vision blurred and he stumbled forward dizzily. His fingers grew numb and unresponsive; the blade fell uselessly to the ground. Tristan fell forward just as the club landed squarely on the back of his head. Darkness overcame him and he knew no more.
“Good hit Brom,” snapped the man without the club.
“Thank you Prat,” grinned Brom stupidly, “I try.”
“Who do you think he is?” asked Prat.
“Dunno,” said Brom, “but he won’t be telling us neither.”
“What do you mean?” growled Prat.
“I think I broke his neck,” said Brom in distress, “he is not breathing.”
Prat rushed to the side of the sprawled figure and sought in vain for a pulse, “the general is not going to like this. This guy is lucky, he wouldn’t’ve liked his welcome inside. The general will have questions and we don’t have any answers. Come on, maybe he has something on him that will give us some idea where he came from or who he wass.” Together they lifted Tristan’s prone form and drug it into the castle.
They searched his pockets and belt pouch but found nothing but a few coins, some well-worn but nondescript clothes, and a spare bowstring. Prat whistled as he looked at Tristan’s chest, “whoever he was, he sure has been through something! Look at all them scars.” A variety of scars crisscrossed his chest and arms, acquired in over a century of service to the Brethren.
Just then the door swung open and an important looking man walked in scowling. “What is so important that it must interrupt my meeting?” growled the general.
“We found this bloke sneaking around outside and thought you should know,” said Prat meekly.
“Has he told you anything useful?” asked the general.
“He isn’t exactly speaking,” said Prat, “or breathing for that matter. He took a nasty blow to the head.”
The general snarled in irritation, “has your search revealed anything useful?” They shook their heads. “Then why are you bothering me and wasting time?” said the general, “he might have friends out there. I want every available man to comb the area and capture his colleagues, alive.”
“What about him?” asked Brom at a very bad time.
“I do not care what you do with the corpse as long as it does not bother me,” shouted the general as he stormed out of the dungeons.
Brom looked dimly at Prat who said, “dump the body in the refuse cart. I will dispose of it after we search the area. We had better get moving and wake the guard.” Every available man was roused from his bed or taken off the walls and put to work combing the darkness for any reinforcements. The general was left alone in the courtyard with three cloaked men.
Tristan woke slowly, as if from a long sleep. He sat on the ground, well padded with spongy moss. Around him the boles of ancient pines lifted their hoary heads high into the sunshine though around him only scattered patches of light made its way to the forest floor. It was pleasantly warm, though there was a hint of autumn coolness in the late morning air. Somewhere behind him a chattering brook played over its stony bed. He turned his head and saw what had awakened him. A unicorn stood gazing at him longingly. He recognized her immediately as Aria, the mare that had traded her life for his. If she was here then… The thought that he might be dead quickly vanished from his mind. The mare winked at him, tossed her head, and then fled into the forest as an ominous presence came up behind him. He had never felt such power before, as if the sun itself had come out of the heavens to walk amongst men. He had once seen a reflection of the great figure that stood before him, but to be in His presence was quite another matter entirely. He knelt with his head bowed in awe and fear.
The Master spoke, “walk with me, child.” Somehow he found the strength and courage to stand and walked quietly beside the Master of All. They were silent for some time as they walked the paths of the ancient grove, but finally the Master spoke, “you may have guessed where you are.” Tristan nodded. The Master continued, “you are but a sojourner here. One day you will come hither and never again tread mortal soil, but for now you are just a visitor.” Tristan looked at Him in confusion. He continued, “had you been captured alive, you would have wished very soon for the alternative and many carefully laid plans would have come to naught. I have called you here to further My plans. A corpse may go places that a living man may not. For people do not fear to be overheard by the dead, for they are very good at keeping secrets. You will waken with a headache, but little worse for wear. Farewell My son.” Tristan looked upon the Master one last time and again lapsed into darkness.
He woke with a start, darkness surrounded him and pain erupted in his head. Aching muscles complained from lying on a hard surface for too long. He felt cautiously around him in the darkness and felt wood beneath him and a tarp above him. The small, confined space smelled strongly of rotten produce and old horse dung. He guessed he must be in some sort of wagon used to haul garbage. He felt about himself and discovered his weapons and all his possessions about him, save his purse was empty. He carefully raised the tarp enough to see out into the night. Four figures stood not far off; one facing the other three. The one said, “excuse the delay, but we had a minor security breach but it has been rectified. Please report what you have encountered in your assigned sectors.”
The man on the right said, “the students are having the desired effect. Sometimes there are two or three together, each more befuddled than the next. The locals will listen to nothing anyone has to say. The Brethren are out in force, but they cannot get a word in edgewise.” He laughed with mirth and continued, “I have reports of one or two singers going about and having an impact, but there are too few of them and there are too many of our students for them to make any headway.”
“Good,” said the lone figure, “what news from Arca?”
The man said, “the last my agents heard or saw of the traitor, he was headed for Astoria under guard. It is assumed he died there.”
“Make no assumptions,” snarled the one, “our master wants him dead. No one is allowed to violate their oath to the Brotherhood and lives to tell about it. Find him and destroy him.” Tristan thought they must be speaking of Trap. The solitary man turned to the man in the middle, “what news from the Order?”
The man said, “discord grows daily between those who have gone to Astoria and those who have not. Many of the latter have already resigned their commissions and very few now venture forth for that cursed city. We hope very soon to force the resignation of all who have taken that vile Oath and then to reshape the Order into something far more useful.”
“What of the usurper Karly?” asked the one.
“We hope very soon to have him expelled from the High Council thus allowing you to return to your former post,” said the man.
“Very good,” smiled the one, “continue as planned.” The man bowed in acquiescence. The lone man turned to the man who had not yet spoken, “and what of the University?”
The man answered, “I have had the privilege of watching one of the Brethren violate his Oath. He failed at his assigned task, but it w
as a satisfying experience. The University has acquired a songstress and put her on staff as a professor. I am sure she is one of those blasted Brethren. She actually teaches something useful, I plan to do away with her as soon as may be. Otherwise things progress smoothly.”
“Very interesting,” said the one, “proceed as you think necessary, but do not let anyone know what happens to the songstress. It would be a pity to make her a martyr. And make sure those fools at the University do not hire anyone who actually has any useful knowledge.” The final man bowed low. “You have made your reports and you have your orders,” said the one, “keep me posted.” All three bowed, mounted their horses, and rode off into the night.
Shortly, Prat returned from his fruitless search. “Well?” demanded the general.
“We found nothing sir,” said Prat fearfully, “he seems to have come alone.”
The general swallowed his anger and said, “the next time a prisoner dies on your watch you will wish for the same fate.”
“Yes sir,” swallowed Prat. The general stormed off into the keep. Prat hitched up the carthorse to the refuse wagon and glanced quickly into the back. Tristan lay as still as he could and held his breath. He seemed to convince the man that he was still dead because Prat climbed into the wagon seat and drove out of the courtyard. The sun was coming up by the time the wagon stopped and Prat pulled back the tarp. He crawled into the back of the wagon and pushed Tristan’s inert form off the back. Tristan did his best not to groan or flinch as he hit the ground. The man quickly replaced the tarp and turned the wagon back towards the castle. Tristan lay still, breathing slowly and shallowly for half an hour, but the man did not return. He picked himself up off the ground and began walking deeper into the woods. The anxious Taragon found him quickly and after much fussing was finally convinced Tristan was well. Tristan mounted and rode as fast as he could for Astoria.
It was a long way, but a unicorn in a hurry can make excellent time. They finally reached the gates of the city and Tristan very nearly fell out of his saddle with exhaustion. He was covered in dust and smelled vaguely of the refuse wagon, but he demanded to see the Lady immediately. A rather embarrassed servant bowed him into her presence, wondering how such an apparent vagabond could be allowed into the Lady’s presence in such a condition and upon demand. Tristan quickly recounted his adventures.
“That is quite a story,” said she in amazement, “we must act quickly. I will send as many of our musicians as can be spared into the East. I think each should have an armed escort as well. Perhaps we can influence with music where speech fails altogether. I will also quietly alert High Councilor Karly of these tidings and put all of our people within the Order on alert. I fear we have not seen the last of our difficulties with the Order. You must return quickly to the University and see that Arora is protected. Perhaps we can have a greater influence there and actually teach these eager young minds something worth learning. I will send a few more Teachers thither and see what they can do. These tidings of the attempt on Arora’s life sadden me greatly, but we will deal with the perpetrator when he comes. I will also see what we can discover of this strange castle and its vile inhabitants. I really wish you would quit trying so hard to get yourself killed, the suspense is not good for anyone, most especially you.” She smiled at him fondly and he bowed himself out. After a quick wash, a meal, and a much needed rest, he was very soon on his way to the University.