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“We have been waiting for you,” commented the voice.

  “How did you know I would come?” asked Nijal skeptically.

  “You could not have done otherwise.”

  Noman introduced each of the group in turn; the titles of all save the young man, Vilmos, were quite impressive to behold, yet he did not mention the name of their most beautiful companion which left Nijal hanging as it became readily apparent that Noman was going to say no more.

  “I would say it is a safe assumption that you know this country like the back of your hand. Is that not right, my young friend?”

  Nijal gave a subdued nod of the head.

  “We travel south my young friend, south toward the open country. Will you not lead the way?”

  “But I thought you were headed east?”

  “We have, perhaps, changed our minds,” said Noman with a grin.

  The group departed, turning a wide circle south and east, with a stunned young captain staring at the Gray Eagle Lord who had just launched effortlessly into the quickly darkening sky on powerful wings. Vilmos stole the opportunity to intercede on the other’s behalf, saying, “Many strange things happen in this group, friend Nijal; in time it will all just seem natural, because to them, it is—”

  “Quickly now!” hastened Noman, “We have one more to gather.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the half-light of dawn, a long line of ships gathered. The serene sky returned to blue, the call of the gull filled the air, and moderate waves splashed against a rocky shore spraying a fine salty mist. Sailors, soldiers, free men, and mercenaries alike had begun their toil long before the dawn had come. There were two groups of vessels in the sea this day, the large three-masted sea vessels whose silhouettes hung long in the still shadowed day and a tiny fleet of longboats that forever shifted between ship and shore.

  Seth looked on; it was a grand sight to him. It marked the return to his lands and his people and a chance for their survival. A temporary lull while the longboats returned once more to shore to ferry supplies allowed his mind to wander. Yet this didn’t last long until he was interrupted by Cagan calling to him from the lower deck. The last of the stores were finally secured in the hold and it was time for those waiting to board. Lines formed and people filled the tiny boats to capacity the second they touched land. There was energy in the air, eagerness, a culmination, and an end to the waiting.

  Satisfied with the proceedings, Cagan and Seth returned to shore, crossing the now barren fields on foot to the place where the last tent stood. Seth paused a moment in reflection. The field was strewn with debris and discarded goods. Although a few stragglers remained, Peddler Town was all but disbanded. Its dividing fence in shambles, the training field was also empty now.

  The emptiness saddened Seth for a reason he couldn’t understand. He didn’t linger much longer; turning away, he flung the tent’s door open and walked in. Chancellor Van’te, Keeper Martin, Father Jacob, the newly appointed captain, Evgej, and Prince Valam were already inside waiting.

  The meeting was meant for the seven of them alone. They had decided previously that they would split up into two groups; the first would depart as soon as the meeting commenced and the second would follow at mid-day with the change of the tides. Father Jacob, Keeper Martin, and Captain Evgej would be on the lead ship of this second group, the others on the first lead ship.

  The individual captains had already been given plans and contingencies in case any of the ships were separated. A primary point of arrival and a secondary point had also been designated on the maps they had distributed. This meeting was to firm up any loose ends they had previously overlooked and to set the plans into action.

  Chancellor Van’te was to remain behind and wait for word from King Andrew. Finalizing the plans was a meticulous process accomplished only after long, exasperating minutes. A few minuscule items were found, nothing more. Next they discussed the chain of command from Valam down to the lowest of the ranking soldiers. They had no idea where the enemy would be, and this they discussed also. Goodbyes were said, and since there was nothing more to say, the companions parted ways. After the ship captains had been contacted and everything was in place, Captain Cagan hoisted the signal flag. His ship was the first to raise sail and embark. In pairs, the others followed in two drawn-out columns.

  “A beautiful sight, I must say!” exclaimed Cagan, his love for the sea evident. The sight of ships on the horizon as far as he could see gave him a sense of elation.

  “Yes, indeed!” answered Seth and Valam.

  “I wonder how Evgej will fare with those two?” asked Seth.

  “Keeper Martin will probably drive him mad by the time the journey is over, and Father Jacob will probably turn him into a convert. He’ll be quoting whole sections from the Great Book,” replied Valam with a jovial tone.

  “Or bore him to death with their intellectual talks. I can see it now,” joked Seth.

  “Yes, that is probably what will happen. Poor fellow. I will miss him sorely.”

  “And I have lost my fencing partner,” returned Seth.

  “I don’t think so,” said a familiar voice from below.

  “You are going to get us in real trouble,” said Valam. “What will the men in the ranks think when they see you gone?”

  The three turned and stared as Evgej climbed the ladder to the upper deck. Water dripped from his hair down his face and his tunic and leathers were clearly soaked.

  “No trouble at all, I assure you. It was a simple solution really. You see—”

  “You are all wet,” said Seth as he looked at the water dripping from Evgej.

  “A minor issue in truth.”

  “How did you manage to sneak away from them?”

  “I didn’t sneak. They both decided it would be best for me to accompany you. They said I could keep you three in line.”

  “Oh, really?” exclaimed Valam.

  “Well, actually, it was because of—how did Father Jacob put it—oh, yes—I looked like a lost toddler when you departed. He said, ‘If you are going to reach the ship before it departs you had better hurry.’ I almost made it, too; however, I had to take a slight detour to get aboard. Lost my balance actually.”

  The four burst into raucous laughter.

  “Come with me below; I’ll get you some dry clothes,” said Cagan.

  With a final wave to the distant figure of Father Jacob, the two went below decks; Seth and Valam remained above. Valam had a broad smile on his lips; with the four of them together the journey would be anything but dull. Father Jacob watched the last of the first group depart, pairs of sails turning away, becoming smaller and smaller. He was rather eager to get underway, yet the changing of the tides was several hours away.

  “Do you think it was a good idea to send Captain Evgej with those three?” asked Chancellor Van’te jokingly.

  “I’m not so sure,” answered Keeper Martin.

  “All these men to fight away from their lands; most will never return. Is it all worth it?” asked Van’te. The question had been at the tip of his thoughts all day; he would not have asked it in the presence of the others. He knew Martin and Jacob would accept the question at face value and not dwell on it, so he had asked.

  “If you had seen the images from Seth’s home you would be convinced beyond any doubts. There will always be doubts in any endeavor, but in this the consequences far outweigh any doubts. I just wish we had heard from King Andrew beforehand, yet this was the date he himself set. I am anxious to know if the delegates have arrived from the Minor Kingdoms. Last night I sent a message to the council, but I am not sure if it was heard. My thoughts were in disarray with such a short time to prepare, and the distance is great. I may only hope.”

  “As do I. I have received no word from the priesthood. Still, I am confident we made the correct decision.”

  “Yes, Father Jacob, we were not given much choice in the matter. The situation has turned suddenly so serious. There is no doubt—we made the right
choice.”

  They sat quietly contemplating their own thoughts; soon it was time to say their goodbyes also. They must depart now, for the tide had changed. The ships were fully boarded and now only one of the longboats remained. It waited at the shore, its four oarsmen weary from a day that had already been too long for them. Jacob didn’t much care for ships or travel by sea and as he stepped into the small boat, he crossed himself and said a prayer to the benevolent Father to watch over him and keep him safe throughout the journey, which he hastily amended with a prayer for all who departed this day. His thoughts were especially with Prince Valam.

  On Keeper Martin’s command, the signal flag was hoisted. Their ship, the lead ship, was the first to raise its sails, tighten its lines, weigh anchor and make the long arcing turn for clear open waters. At mid-day the sea was broken only by a delicate ripple, but as the giant vessels began to glide through its dark waters it swelled and churned, as if offering a slight resistance. As the lead turned its sails fully westward, the others were making their exodus from the shore in a staggered array.

  Chancellor Van’te watched the last pair grow to small specks on the horizon before he prepared to return home. The command tent was removed from the field, and now it was truly empty. Only one peddler stand remained.

  The benevolent chancellor felt that he was indebted to the old man, though for what he did not know. He dismounted, a slow feat for the aged chancellor, and approached the small bit of canvas that served as a meager shelter from the rains and winds for the peddler and his wares.

  “Good day to you, gent,” said Van’te.

  The peddler did not move. His head was slumped and his chin rested oddly on the top of his dirty coat. His hands were crossed, left over right and folded over his lap. Van’te noted the thick scent of mead from within the tent. At first, the chancellor thought the other was a drunkard, then he saw the many small oaken casks. His frown departed and the corners of his mouth lifted as he inhaled heavily of the sweet aroma.

  “Good day to you, sir!” called out Van’te.

  The peddler did not stir.

  “Good day to you, sir!” he called out again.

  The man was still as death, and for an instant, this notion crossed Van’te’s mind. This idea that the man was indeed dead would seem an appropriate explanation for his lagging behind. Dying in a barren field was a bitter end. Van’te’s sour countenance slowly crept back into place.

  “How much for the lot?” The chancellor asked.

  He lurched, expecting the old peddler to accept the offer eagerly. The chancellor signaled his attendant and turned back to his mount; gaining the saddle was as tedious a feat as departing it. He chased away offers of assistance; the day he could no longer take to saddle was the day he wished to pass like the old vendor, quietly and sadly where there would be no loved ones to see him go and feel the pain.

  The small party headed by the chancellor began the solemn ride back to the city. The guardsmen seemed as touched by the incident as the chancellor had been. He flicked the reins, signaling his mount to go. He looked back, a long hard stare, as the animal beneath him raced forward. He was halfway to the city when his conscience forced him to turn around. He raced back to that empty field, just as his attendant and two others were preparing to lower the peddler’s ragged tent.

  “Leave it,” he said, in a low voice.

  “Leave it?” questioned the attendant.

  “Leave it,” the chancellor replied, “find his book of records, if he has one, and bring it to me.”

  “But—”

  “That cache of mead smells of the finest sort in all the land and I would imagine that it is. What would you say would be the worth of such a treasure?”

  “Nothing to a dead man.”

  “Return with a wagon, and bring me the record when you find it. Lay his bones to rest in this field only at peril of your own life.”

  The chancellor didn’t know why he said this; but as he did, he whipped his reins and urged his steed to a full gallop. He rode back toward Quashan’, uttering not a single word until he dispatched a messenger for the local keeper. Van’te had talked to him many times in the past few days; he grew to dislike the man more each time. Keeper Parren was a different man than Keeper Martin, extremely different. Still, he was the head keeper for their city, so he must be informed that the departure had taken place as set forth.

  

  Keeper Parren awoke suddenly, snapped from his dream by an urgent-sounding summons at his chamber door. It took him quite a while to gather his thoughts. For a moment, he had thought he was back at home in Imtal. Slowly a picture began to form in his mind, the dream. The message was made faint and unclear by the sound of incessant thrashing at his door.

  He was sure of one thing: something was very wrong in Imtal. He sat lost in a trance of remembrance, a trance that should have cleansed his mind and brought the message of the dream forth. The thoughts would not come, only a vague feeling that something was wrong, a picture of the palace at Imtal and a faint image of a man. He continued to follow his thoughts back through his sleep. The answer did not lie in his dreams.

  He jumped from his trance as the pounding returned to the door.

  “What is it?” he bellowed haughtily.

  “A message, Keeper, from Chancellor Van’te,” exclaimed the page, sounding urgent.

  “For this you wake me as if the very earth were crumbling beneath my feet! For this you raise a heavy fist again and again to my door!”

  The keeper didn’t much care for the chancellor either, as was evident in his tone.

  “Bring me the note, you oafish boy! Don’t just stand there peering within! Boy, come here!”

  The youngster inched forward warily.

  “Don’t just stand there; hand me the note, boy! The note—”

  Keeper Parren read the message, muttering to himself about the summons. He chased the boy away with a violent hand gesture, quickly dipping his face in the basin beside his bed and then dressing in the appropriate robes of his office. He didn’t race down the hall; instead, he walked at a moderate pace. Any other day he would have stopped off at the kitchens for a quick bite, but this day the strange dream gnawed at the corners of his thoughts.

  He found Chancellor Van’te in the study, not in his office, oddly gazing out an open window. The keeper quietly approached, waiting until Van’te turned from the window before he said a word. The two spoke brokenly for a moment, the chancellor muttering something about sleeping past the midday and the keeper mumbling about dotards. Keeper Parren was quick to discuss the dream that pervaded even his waking mind. The two discussed this for a time and it puzzled them both. There must be a reason the message was sent, but they could not tell what it was.

  “The man in the image—you couldn’t see him?” snapped the chancellor.

  “Just the outline of him superimposed over the castle. I assume it must be King Andrew.”

  “The king—that is odd,” said Chancellor Van’te, his voice suddenly becoming mild as chagrin set in.

  “I can think of only two reasons the Council of Keepers would send a message with such feelings: to have us stop the journey or to inform us of a happening of great import.”

  Keeper Parren decided to go into the dream-state again. Only this time, Chancellor Van’te would probe his thoughts as he recalled them with verbal cues—a trick he had learned from Martin and Jacob. He told Keeper Parren to delve back through his night’s dream one step at a time, and slowly inch forward. The images rolled into Parren’s mind at a rate that only his subconscious could perceive. Hours passed in minutes, or perhaps minutes passed in hours. Time held no bounds within his thoughts.

  Van’te found a detail the keeper had overlooked. The image of the castle was hazy, but certain things could be noted. The gates of the castle were closed, and the kingdom flag was not flying. The chancellor broke the link immediately; now he understood. Keeper Parren continued the trance, slowly recovering from it u
ntil his mind was free.

  Chancellor Van’te returned his stare to the open window and the small courtyard below it where the sun continued to shine and where it seemed that the entire world had been cleansed. Without a doubt, he understood the message, King Andrew was dead and the only heir to the throne of the Great Kingdom was gone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nijal and Vilmos had talked a lot since the former day captain of the Solntse City Garrison had joined their small band. The two found that they had a lot in common and shared a similar dream. They didn’t strive to be wealthy or important; they just wanted to have purpose in their lives.

  Vilmos explained much to Nijal, who always listened intently, about those of the mysterious company. The free man often felt he did not belong in such a group, a feeling that Vilmos shared with him since the departure of the wild magic, yet Vilmos assured him that if he did not belong he would not be here with them. And from those meager ties, their strange friendship grew.