John Miglene was just a name. A name much disturbing to the Dark Duke time and time again, but just a name nonetheless. There was never any picture of him drawn, nor was anybody outside of his own gang quite sure what he looked like. The rewards for his head, even, told of nothing but the name, the face as mysterious as his whereabouts. But names without faces can slip into countries unaware much more easily than can names with faces, a fact which John was very much cognizant of. And he was determined to be more than a name.
…………………………………………..
The day of Monastero’s great feast was truly a magnificent one. The sun sat high in its kingdom of blue, commanding from its throne a gentle breeze, which whipped gaily at times and died suddenly at others, only to rise up and charge at the numerous flags, banners, and streamers once again. Boys, some with toy bows and swords, ran playfully down the street and up, stopping at the various puppet shows and extravaganzas, gazing at the jesters in pink, purple, and yellow costumes, while their sisters picked flowers from the field. Women conversed in the square, telling stories and basking in rumors, mostly about their husbands, who seemed to take more interest in the chicken legs and beer than in their gossipy wives.
It was a magnificent day to have a feast! Even the vendors seemed happy to be there, laughing and smiling and shouting as they offered knives and wheels and fish.
The Dark Duke had even gone so far as to open up the palace courtyard, with, of course, some 2500 soldiers nearby; for he was not a trusting soul. In front, a large dais had been laid out, just before the palace wall, intended for the various high tide elite who had ceded power to the Dark Duke, most of them lords, dukes, and clergy. On it were turkeys and geese and rabbits and deer, all prepared by the Dark Duke's personal chef, Oleg, who watched nearby to ensure that everything was perfect.
The Dark Duke himself sat up on the balcony, with Rahavi and Farv by his side and four Guards surrounding. There they had a view of all of the festivities, as well as a table set before them of the finest delicacies, complete with fruits, meats, and, of course, arugula.
The Dark Duke marveled at the people’s excitement. “How stupid they are,” he remarked. “I must admit that you were right, Rahavi – give these fools a festival and they forget all. Politics is a cruel joke.”
But there was one face down below that was not smiling; one face that was not gazing at the jesters or laughing at the puppet shows or partaking of the various foods and delicacies; one face that was concentrated instead on matters more serious - more daring - more daunting. That was the face of John Miglene, his eyes darting round the courtyard, searching out the best escape route. His target sat perched above, and occasionally he’d glance up at him, then quickly revert his eyes, weary of any attention he might cause to some passing Guardsman or Mob member.
The plan was a simple one:
Sooner or later Farv, who was still charged with the command of the Dark Duke’s cavalry, would have to leave the festivities to take to his duties, most probably with some of his lieutenants. But he knew that most of Farv’s army had to remain to protect the palace, and so Farv would be traveling with only a light guard, rather than an entire army of men. When the signal was given, the ambush was to begin, leaving Farv for John alone, so that he might take his vengeance. With the noise of the festival, no one would notice for hours to come, leaving John and his men plenty of time to slip safely back across the border. But if all did not go well, a quick escape would be the difference between life and death, and so John eyed the land carefully.
He was already one eye short, though, since he had to keep one eye on the feast, one eye on Farv, and one eye on Ezra Dunn, who sat perched amongst some of the villagers, watching the events from up in a tree, stealthily slipping a scope from his sleeve every now and again so that he might get a better look at things. John was to give him the signal when the time came, and Ezra was to relay that signal to the others. The signal would be different, depending on the direction in which John saw Farv traveling, and so all had to be executed precisely and in as speedy a fashion as possible.
But by midday all were becoming antsy. Farv had barely moved an inch in three hours, and there was some concern on Miglene’s part that he might not take leave before the festival was over. Patiently John waited through shows and ceremonies, pretending to laugh when he had to laugh, pretending to smile when he was to smile, pretending that he was not uneasy as a clam, ready to snap at any moment if the man up above did not make his move and soon. Performers came and went; music played and stopped and played again; clergymen and statesmen and diplomats all came to pay their respects to the Dark Duke, some with gifts of gold and silver and cheeses. Wines were presented, cannons fired, but still, Farv remained in his seat.
John had considered firing an arrow, but with the four surrounding Guardsmen and the height of the balcony, it would be an utterly futile attempt. No. He had to wait it out.
Soon night began to fall and torches were lit around the palace. Farv was harder to see now, but Miglene’s eyes had become trained upon him, and by that point neither the body nor the eyes were moving. The people, taking little notice of the day passing into night, sang and danced cheerfully, while the Dark Duke started in on his second helping of arugula pudding. Another round of music struck up, another cheese was presented, and twelve more diplomats took their seats at the dais. Farv shifted in his chair, then laid back and folded his legs.
Miglene’s patience was running thin, but soon he was to take new hope in what his eyes perceived. It wasn’t an enormous event, nothing of momentous proportions to most; yet, to John, it was a good omen, and one that he had been waiting for. Most eyes would not have caught it, but at that point John’s could not have missed it. Stretching out with his arms, Farv had opened his mouth to let loose what seemed a most exhausted yawn, then rubbed his eyes to clear away the water. Miglene’s heart nearly skipped a beat. Surely this meant that Farv would be departing any moment now. The hour had come, John could feel it; he just had to remain calm.
A moment later Farv rose up from his chair and rubbed his face with his hands. “Is he leaving?” John thought, his heart racing like a jackrabbit. “Why, yes, he is! He’s – Wait! What is this?” The Dark Duke was taking Farv by the elbow and motioning him to sit back down, jabbering on about something or other while pointing down to the courtyard. “Surely we can’t have been discovered?” thought John. But no. A moment later Farv was back in his chair, tired but compliant. John jerked his head in disappointment. He looked to Ezra, but the hefty man seemed just as confused as he.
Both were distracted, though, by the sound of trumpets blaring and the movement of the people. They were parting the way for a cart, which was being ushered in by four Guardsmen. A large, rectangular object was propped up upon it, covered by an enormous white cloth. It looked like a painting, but John couldn’t be sure, it was so enormous. If a painting it was, then surely it was the most tremendous he had ever seen, and he had stolen many a piece of art.
The soldiers pushed the cart forward to the corner of the courtyard, then positioned it at an angle so that the Dark Duke, the commoners, and the people at the dais all had a view of it. Two torch stands were placed by its side, giving more light to that one area than to anywhere else around the palace. A drum roll broke out as a portly man with red cheeks and a funny green hat stepped forward to make the announcement. The drum roll died out as he began to speak:
“I, Renold de Buner,” he declared in a vibrant voice, “present on this day of days, this fine anniversary of our great country, this momentous milestone – I present to His Highness, the great ruler of Belsden, of Sarbury, and of Monastero – I present to him this gift, commissioned by His Royal Self, with all the graciousness of His Royal generosity and kindness, with his endorsement and his blessing, and with nothing but gratitude on the part of myself – I present this to him and to his people, who I hope will take just as much joy in it as have I, and give it to them and to their Ruler so th
at they might do so, and so that he might forever be remembered in his glory.”
The people, uncertain as to whether or not his flamboyant speech was quite yet over, made not a sound, instead gazing in wonderment. Buner, taking a slight bow, then stepped to his side and snapped his fingers, to which a soldier in waiting reacted by tugging on a rope from behind, revealing to the people the great painting in all its luminosity.
The portrait was all at once incredible, stupendous, and offensive. In it the Dark Duke stood about eighteen feet tall, with his hand fixed to his hips and his eyes staring out into the distance, as if he were confronting the very sun. Upon his chest was a suit of armor, while behind his head rested a map of the known world. His black velvet robe filled out the rest. The boldness surprised even John, but he did not have much time to think about it; for while the people were “Ooo”ing and “Aaa”ing, Farv was beginning to say his good-byes and make his exit. John felt for the sword he had hidden under his pants, biting his lip in anticipation.
Farv, yawning once again, turned to leave, only to pause a moment later to look down upon the commoners.
John’s eyes buckled.
A strange noise seemed to be breaking through that of the crowd; a laughter of sorts, loud at first, then louder, becoming more and more voluble over the “Ooo”s and “Aaa”s of the people. By this point the Dark Duke himself had noticed, as had Rahavi and the surrounding Guards, each bending their necks to find the source. The crowd spread out once again, as all, including John, turned their heads to an elderly man with long gray hair and a cane. His back was arched, his head bobbing, as louder and louder grew his laughter, becoming uproariously obnoxious. He stepped closer to the painting and, with his finger jutting out to it, groped forth at his belly in a hysterical fit.
“Ugly!” he cried, his voice old and cranky. “Uuug-ly!”
Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd, as the people gazed round in confusion.
The Dark Duke, his face red with anger, jumped from his chair.
“Take him away!” he screamed.
“Ugly!” laughed the old man. “Ug-leeeeeeey!”
Swiftly, a Guardsman stepped out from behind the cart and took hold of the old man by the shoulder. He pulled him upright, and suddenly found that a sword had appeared from nowhere into the old man’s hand. In a flash, the Guard was down. A gasp from the crowd as, spinning, the old man clipped another in the head! Two more rushed forward, but his sword was lightning-fast.
A shriek arose from the crowd as the old man pulled off his wig and tossed away his cane. His eyes were clear and young, his stature undaunted. For it was Taylor James!
“My God,” John remarked.
“Get him!” cried the Dark Duke.
Soldiers rushed forth with swords drawn, but quickly retreated as arrows flew from the air. The Dark Duke ducked down beneath the balcony, then slowly peeked his head over the edge in just enough time to see another onslaught of arrows take out two of his soldiers. Taylor picked one of the torches from the stand and threw it into a Guardsman’s face. The man shrieked in agony, dropping to the ground before three more of his approaching comrades. Taylor cut and slashed, thrashing them each by the neck. He grabbed the other torch from its stand, and, a moment later, the great portrait of the Dark Duke, once tall and proud, was burning away in a rainbow of effigy.
“Who is this man?” thought John.
“A thousand gold pieces for the man that brings me Taylor James!” screamed the Dark Duke, jolting up with finger pointed.
A trampling was heard from afar, and Miglene looked up to see another man, dressed as any commoner, making his way through the crowd on horseback. He did not know it, but this man was Robert of Roth. He reached Taylor just as a dozen more soldiers surrounded him. Kicking one over with his foot, he grabbed up his fellow and helped him onto the horse. A moment later the two were galloping back past the crowd and out toward the woods.
“After him!” cried the Dark Duke.
Farv was the first to react. Jumping quickly from his spot, he ran down the palace staircase and out the front gate. Grabbing himself a horse, he took off in Taylor’s direction with about 400 men on horseback.
Miglene shook his head. He knew that his chance had passed.
…………………………………………..
A moment later, Farv would shake his head as well. His men searched out the woods as thoroughly as they could, yet still they found nothing. It seemed that the man had vanished into complete oblivion once again.
He pressed his horse around and over the hill, searching for some sort of sign, but there was nothing. Not even a hoof print.
“Did anybody see him?” he called to his dumbfounded soldiers.
Nobody answered.
Farv dropped his head down.
He would, of course, have to pay the piper for this one. What would he tell King Harris? How would he explain himself? – beaten out by a band of vagabonds once again. Surely the King would be thirsty for blood, and if he couldn’t have that of Taylor James, then who?
Farv looked out over the hill. The night wind whipped his hair into the air, then folded it back down over his face. In the distance he could see a figure, he thought, a man, but not his own. Slowly the figure approached, large and husky, with broad shoulders and wild, untamed hair. At first Farv thought that it might be Taylor James, but soon he realized that this man was of a much larger mold. Ugly and rugged.
“Identify yourself,” Farv demanded.
“Identify yourself,” came the reply.
Farv motioned to some of his men, who promptly dismounted and surrounded the man. The man put up no resistance, though he seemed quite capable of doing so.
“That won’t do ya no good,” he said with a laugh. “Unless, of course, you wish to waste whatever help I might offer ya.”
“Pardon?” said Farv, shifting forward on his horse. “Did you say that you wished to help us?”
“Oh, yes,” said the man. “And I believe that I possess some information that would be of great value to ya.”
“Speak it, then,” returned the general.
“No, no,” the man replied. “First I wanna see yer boss, the Dukie…”
“And who, may I ask, are you?”
“Name’s Nome Flag,” said the man. “And if you truly want to get Taylor James, you’ll take me to see yer Duke friend right now.”
…………………………………………..
An anxious crowd greeted Taylor and Robert warmly as they arrived back safely in Cheshire. The other men (who had helped secure their exit), having to travel back on foot, wouldn’t arrive for another hour or so, but the people knew that the safe return of their leaders likely meant the safe return of them all.
“How did it go?” someone yelled, as the two men dismounted.
“I saw fear in the eyes of the Dark Duke,” Taylor declared, much to the amusement of the crowd. “He has felt us.”
Rosemarie advanced and hugged him. She would have kissed him, had not a voice from the crowd distracted her.
“’Scuse me,” went Soothie, pushing her way through. “’Scuse me, now. ’Scuse me…”
“Are you all right, Auntie?” Rosemarie asked, as Soothie appeared before them.
Her face was grim.
“Taylor,” she said, “you must come with me at once.”
Her voice was wavy, her eyes flickering. She seemed rather unnerved about something or other, which was unusual for her, and so Taylor followed quickly with Robert and Rosemarie right behind. She brought them all to the fire, where her magic pot sat boiling over the flames.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to put that out,” Taylor told her.
“Look!” she exclaimed, pointing down at it. “It tells all. Look. Look!”
Taylor peered down into the pot, which seemed to contain everything from dirt to spit to blood to some sort of animal intestines.
“Do ya see?” Soothie asked.
“Well,
” said Taylor, “I’m not exactly sure what it is, but I think I’m gonna pass on dinner for tonight.”
“Oh, Taylor, don’t be such a fool!” Soothie chastised. “Can’t ya read what it says?”
“I’m afraid not,” Taylor admitted.
Soothie leaned in close to him and spoke in a harsh whisper: “Danger,” she said. “Imminent danger.”
Taylor knitted his brow and peered back into the pot.
“I tell ya somethun’s comin’,” Soothie said. “Somethun’s comin’, n’ it’s comin’ soon.”
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Up and down the Dark Duke paced in his chambers, becoming angrier with each and every step. Rahavi, careful not to intervene, stood quietly in the corner, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Un-be-lievable!” the Dark Duke ranted. “The nerve of this man! I’ll have that nerve in my hand! I’ll have his head on a platter! I’ll have – body part!”
“Liver, Sire.”
“I’ll have his liver under my foot!” His pacing became frantic. “Dares to set my portrait on fire! He’ll learn not to trifle with me!”
There was a knock at the door.
“Yes, yes, what?” snapped the Dark Duke.
A gangly Guard with a pointy chin entered.
“Your Highness,” he said with a bow, “Farv is here with a man by the name of Nome Flag. They wish to see you immediately.”
“Did he find Taylor James?”
“No, Sire.”
The Dark Duke stepped to the window and placed his hand on its ledge.
“Nome Flag, Nome Flag…” he muttered, looking out, “…I don’t know any Nome Flag.”
“They say, Sire, that the man has information for you, relating to Taylor James.”
The Dark Duke turned in a huff.
“Information?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Very well.” The Dark Duke nodded. “Send them in, but keep this Flag fellow under guard. I don’t want to take any chances.”
The Guard bowed and exited, and a moment later re-entered with Farv and Nome Flag by his side. Four Guardsmen flanked Nome, who seemed to be in as good a spirit as someone who had just found a pot of gold. He smelled funny, and for a moment the Dark Duke retracted in disgust.
“Your Highness,” Farv began, “this man claims to hold valuable information regarding the whereabouts of Taylor James.”
“Well, speak it, then,” said the Dark Duke.
Nome laughed heartily.
“Not so fast Dukie,” he said. “First the money.”
“Money?” echoed the Belsdanian king.
“Yes, sir,” Nome replied. “You said it yaself. A thousand gold pieces.”
“Ah, yes,” said the Dark Duke, turning to look out the window once again. “As a matter of fact, I believe that the exact phrase was, ‘A thousand gold pieces to the man that brings me Taylor James.'” He turned round again. “Is that correct?” he asked, knowing full-well the answer.
“Indeed, Your Highness,” Rahavi confirmed.
“I don’t see him,” said the Dark Duke, spreading wide his arms, “so therefore, why should I pay you?”
“Because,” said Nome, “I can bring ya to’m. I know where he is.”
“And where is that?” asked the Dark Duke.
“Payment first,” said Nome.
“And just how do I know I can trust you?” the Dark Duke countered.
“I guess you’ll just hafta take ya chances,” Nome replied. “Or I can leave, n’ then ya have nuthin’.”
The Dark Duke thought this over for a moment. Only a fool would saunter into his court with such a proposition and nothing to back it up, but still he had to be careful. He rubbed his chin.
“So it seems that neither of us can trust the other,” the Dark Duke said at last. “Therefore, here is what I propose:
“I will have a chest of a thousand gold pieces prepared, which we shall take with us to the place of which you speak. If Taylor James is in fact there, than you may ride off with your newfound fortune. But if he is not…I kill you. Fair enough?”
The plan was foolproof. Nome smiled.
“I accept.”
…………………………………………..
Robert stood watching as the two loves faced each other. He could see in both of their eyes the disappointment that lingered, the anticipation of what was to happen. He himself could not help but show his anxiety, fidgeting with his hands and kicking his feet at the ground, shielding the sorrow from his eyes.
“Rosemarie,” Taylor began at last, taking her by the arm, “I know that we have spoken on such ground before, but I believe that we must touch upon it once again. After what Aunt Soothie has told us-”
“You want me to leave you?” Rosemarie interrupted, a hint of anguish in her voice. “Desert you, leave you to die, alone and desolate?”
“No,” Taylor replied. “I want you to help me.”
“Help you?”
“Yes, my love. I need you now. You must go to Dermer for me. I cannot continue this with you here. You are a danger to us both now, and I cannot have that.”
“But, Taylor!”
“Listen to me,” he said. “There is more:
“I need you to make contact with the nobles in Dermer, and the king if you can. Lord Marks will help you – he will act as your host. I need you to explain to them what is happening here, to warn them and to win their support. If we can obtain their assistance, we might be able to stop the Dark Duke. Otherwise,” – his head lifted to the trees – “I really don’t know.”
For a moment there was silence. Rosemarie’s eyes began to tear as she folded her arms over her chest.
“Taylor speaks the truth,” Robert consoled. “You would only distract him here, creating greater danger for us all. But in Dermer you would be of great service. There are people to be won-over there, and there is none better suited for such a job.”
“And what is to become of our families?” Rosemarie asked.
“They’re going, too,” Taylor said. “We’ve been making arrangements. Our fathers are too old for this, and our mothers deserve better, as does Aunt Soothie. Your brother, on the other hand, though he is quite fit and able, has agreed to accompany you all so that he might make safer your voyage. I think that that is best.”
“Oh, Taylor!” Rosemarie cried, letting loose her arms once again. “How could I ever think straight when my mind is on you all of the time?”
“I will have much the same problem, my love. But it is this thought which must get you through such times: That no matter where, no matter when, no matter what, I shall always come for you, and you shall always be mine.”
Chapter 29
The Dark Duke Goes Marching In