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  26

  “Once we have passed through the fort, then we will need to leave the main road as soon as we can,” instructed Zander as his small company of men passed through the border crossing from the Berghein Valley into the Kingdom of Palara. The border was not tightly controlled. Two flags from the ruling houses marked each side. The flag of Castle Locke was a white horse on a green background, and on the opposing side the flag of the Kingdom of Palara was a golden eagle soaring over water.

  To leave the Berghein Valley, Zander and his four men passed through a small guard post that was manned by the guard of the Duchess D’Anjue. The guards recognized Zander’s insignia and his rank as chief counsel to the Duchess. The control barrier was immediately opened for them so that they could pass through unimpeded. On the other side of the border, the Kingdom of Palara had a small fort that was known as Forest Hill, as it stood at the top of a small rise giving views back across the Cefinon Forest and over the border into the Berghein Valley.

  The fort had been built a long time ago. It was built from stone, designed to last and hold this strategic position for the Kingdom of Palara. There was a small troop of soldiers charged with holding the fort and monitoring any traffic that was passing in or out of the Berghein Valley.

  “Halt!” challenged the guard, as Zander and his men approached. “State your business!”

  “I am Zander Moncrieff, chief counsel to the Duchess D’Anjou. I travel on official business to Castle Villeroy.”

  “Show me your papers.” Zander handed over his letter of passage that bore the seal of the Duchess D’Anjou. “Make sure you stick to the main road,” said the soldier gruffly, handing back Zander’s documents after studying them briefly. “There are bandits in the forest.”

  “Thank you, we will.”

  The soldiers opened the gates that the fort used to control the road, and Zander and his men rode through, passing by the old stone fort and beginning their quest to try and find the Princess Myriam.

  “Let’s stop at that inn ahead,” pointed Zander. “We need to try and get some local knowledge of what other paths lead through the forest.” Zander spurred his horse, Samphire, forward and led his four men to the small highway inn. A wooden sign swung back and forth in the gentle breeze proclaiming it proudly as the “The Bull’s Horn”.

  Zander had brought only four men with him because he knew that he needed to travel fast, and to try and avoid drawing too much attention to his quest. He had chosen four of his best men. They were strong, reliable, trustworthy, and intensely loyal. All four men were in their early thirties (as was Zander) and had served Zander since his first appointment as a commanding officer in the Castle Locke guard.

  The five men rode around the back of the inn so that they could feed and water the horses. The ride from Castle Locke to the border, and then across into the Kingdom of Palara, had taken them all morning, so the horses were obviously pleased to be able to take a break.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen!” greeted the innkeeper, coming out to the stables to welcome them. “Can I interest you in some lunch? We have some very tasty lamb shanks today. The meat is so tender that it falls off the bone and melts in your mouth.”

  “Yes, that sounds good, thank you. I’m sure we’ve all worked up an appetite,” replied Zander. The innkeeper bustled around to pull five chairs around a table and poured them mugs of beer while the kitchen prepared their meals.

  “And where are you heading to, then?” asked the innkeeper, making conversation as he put their beers on the table. “By the look of your clothing, I’d say that you’ve just come across from the Berghein Valley. What brings you to the Kingdom of Palara?”

  Zander was always friendly with innkeepers. They were usually useful to pump for information. “We are on our way to Castle Villeroy. But we were also interested in seeing some of the forest, so we were wondering if there was another path that we could follow, away from the main road. Would you know of any?”

  “Well, there are lots of paths into the forest, but no one really knows where they all lead or where they’ll take you. Plus, the soldiers have told us that there are a lot of bandits in this part of the forest and that we have to be extra vigilant. They’ve increased the number of men manning the fort as well.”

  “What about rivers or lakes in the area? Are there any major bodies of water that we should see?”

  “Of course, the main river is the River Walsall which flows into the Damatine Sea at the port of Brammanville. You’ll cross over the river when you get to Athaca on the main road, although I hear that the town was damaged recently in an attack.”

  Zander wondered if it had anything to do with the Princess. “An attack? What sort of attack?”

  “Oh, I don’t really know all the details,” replied the innkeeper. “I only hear stories from soldiers and travelers, but apparently it was a gang of bandits that had been arrested in Athaca, but they managed to escape by setting the town on fire.”

  “Do you know anything about these bandits?”

  “No, I’m afraid not, but the soldiers have increased their patrols to try and find them, so I’m sure it won’t be long until they’ve been captured and executed. Enjoy your lunch gentlemen!”

  27

  “I don’t like this,” growled Ganry, looking out through the small window in the room in which they had been locked by the Lake Men.

  “Yes,” agreed Artas, “it worries me that they have kept Myriam separate. Do you think that they will harm her?”

  “It’s hard to say. I’ve no experience of these Lake Men. They seem a pretty rough lot.”

  “There have been stories of the Lake Men,” mused Barnaby. “No one was really sure that they existed, but there were always tales of tribes of people living deep in the forest. The tribes were here before the flood, and they resisted the great chief Terrick’s wars to unite the kingdom.”

  “How have they stayed hidden for so long?” asked Hendon.

  “Well, we are deep in the Cefinon Forest now, although I’m not exactly sure where we are…” pondered Barnaby. “I guess the only way to get here is along the river that we drifted down and they probably kill anyone who comes across them by accident.”

  “Like us?” Artas was greatly concerned. “That means that they will probably kill us, doesn’t it?”

  “Probably,” sighed Barnaby. “If it means protecting their home, and protecting their existence.”

  “It’s funny, though,” said Ganry, still trying to see out the window. “They seemed to know quite a bit about the Kingdom of Palara. They knew enough about the outside world to know what we were talking about.”

  Barnaby traced his hand along the wall of their cell. “Yes, I noticed that. They are certainly not completely primitive. It has taken a certain ingenuity to remain hidden for so long, to build a culture, a way of life that revolves completely around this isolated lake deep in the forest. I imagine that they interrogate anyone that they capture to obtain as much information as possible.”

  “Great,” groaned Ganry, “they’re going to torture us first and then kill us. This is working out really well.” Ganry returned his attention to trying to scope out the surroundings of their prison. He could see that it was a small fishing village, all made of wood, the houses and buildings constructed on stilts out across the water, which were connected by wooden walkways and pontoons that formed a small marina. He couldn’t see a lot of people in the village and no real sign of any guards. Mostly just men that seemed to belong to the boats of the fishing fleet. “This is only an outpost.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Artas, joining Ganry at the window.

  “They don’t really live here, that’s why it feels so rough and temporary,” explained Ganry. “I think it’s just some sort of fishing outpost for them.”

  “So there is another settlement somewhere? On this lake also?”

  “I guess so, but who knows?” shrugged Ganry. “We really don’t know what we’re dealing with here.
If Barnaby’s theory is correct, we might never know. They might interrogate and kill us here before we even see their main settlement.”

  Artas clenched his fists. “Then we will need to escape.”

  ***

  “This way, Princess,” said Clay, the chief of the Lake Men, stepping down into the small boat that was secured to the wooden pontoon outside his residence. He held out his hand to help Myriam to follow him down. It was a simple, wooden boat that was functional, but had some trappings that indicated that this was a boat that belonged to someone of importance. There was a small sail that helped to catch the breeze and there were several oarsmen that helped to guide the boat away from the pontoon. Myriam looked back towards the wooden settlement where she knew her companions remained imprisoned. She felt sick at being separated from Ganry, Artas, Hendon, and Barnaby, but she felt that she didn’t have a choice. This was the only way that she would be able to save them.

  Myriam sat down on the wooden bench and hugged herself tight. “Where are we going?”

  “To my city, Halawa,” replied Clay proudly. “It’s not far, just across the lake.”

  “But what of my companions?”

  “It is better that they remain at the fishing village. Safer for them. And safer for you.”

  Myriam pulled her cloak around her shoulders and shivered, partly from the cold wind generated by the speed of the boat across the lake, but mostly from fear of the unknown, of what might lie ahead.

  Myriam studied Clay, the chief of the Lake Men. He stood in the bow of the boat, clearly in charge of the crew, carefully scanning the waters ahead, a man at home on the water, a man that was at one with this lake. He looked to be in his late forties, but it was hard to tell, as his face was weathered, and his body was strong. His hair was long, tied at the back, streaked with gray. His beard was also streaked with gray, plaited at the ends. His clothing was made from a dull material, a long cloak billowed behind him. The crew of his boat were dressed similarly. They were tall, proud men. Lake Men.

  28

  Queen Alissia was awoken by the sound of a key turning slowly in a lock. She stirred on the uncomfortable bed in the dungeon cell in which she and her husband, King Ludwig, had been locked since Duke Harald seized control. It was early, still well before sunrise, and the dungeon was pitch black. The Queen sat up and tried to peer out into the darkness to see what was going on. She heard another key slowly turning in a lock. She quickly shook her husband who was lying next to her.

  “What is it?” he asked, opening his eyes.

  “Someone is coming,” whispered the Queen. She could see the flickering of a torch beginning to throw some light into the dungeon as its holder made their way down the steep stone stairs. “It’s the dungeon master,” said the Queen, watching intently as the bulky shape of the brutish man used the torch that he was carrying to begin lighting other torches around the dungeon.

  “It’s the middle of the night. What do you think he’s doing here?” asked the King. Just then there was the sound of voices and the rattle of armed men descending the stairs.

  “Soldiers!” exclaimed the Queen, immediately getting out of bed and wrapping herself in her cloak. “They could be coming for us,” she said, handing the King his cloak. The Queen peered out of the small barred window of their cell, looking out into the dungeon to try and work out what was going on. A company of six armed soldiers were standing to attention, waiting. More footsteps were heard as someone else began the descent into the dungeon.

  “It’s Judge Strogen!” whispered the Queen as the elderly Chief Judge of Palara emerged into sight.

  “I don’t like this,” grumbled the King. “Why would they have dragged the Chief Judge down here in the middle of the night?”

  The Queen watched as the judge spoke briefly to the dungeon master who then picked up his ring of keys. The dungeon master led the judge across to one of the cells, but he didn’t approach the cell that contained the King and Queen. Instead, he went to the adjacent cell that imprisoned Lord Holstein and his wife, Elisabeth.

  The Queen tried to watch and listen as the cell door was opened. The judge spoke quietly. “Lord Holstein and Lady Holstein. You have been imprisoned in these dungeons because you have both been charged with treason. In my capacity as Chief Judge of the Kingdom of Palara, I hereby find you guilty as charged and sentence you to death. Your execution will be carried out immediately.” The Queen closed her eyes as she heard Lady Holstein begin screaming and wailing in horror as the reality of the judge’s pronouncement hit her. The guards stepped forward to surround Lord and Lady Holstein to lead them from their cell.

  “I forbid this! I forbid this!” shouted the King angrily. “Judge Strogen! I am still the rightful King of Palara and you have no authority to make this judgment or pass this sentence. I forbid this, do you hear me!” The judge did not acknowledge the King in any way, but slowly and carefully led the way out of the dungeon and up the steep stone steps, with the guards escorting Lord and Lady Holstein following behind. As they watched the lights of the torches slowly disappearing and heard the last of the doors being locked, the Queen broke down and sobbed as the King wrapped his arms around her.

  “It’s only a matter of time before they kill us too, isn’t it,” she said sadly.

  “We can only pray to the gods now,” replied the King. “Pray for some kind of miracle.”

  ***

  As the sun slowly began to rise to the east of Castle Villeroy, a single drummer began to beat a muted rhythm in one of the small courtyards within the Castle. Duke Harald took a seat on the plain wooden chair that had been placed for him on the gray flagstones, so that he could observe proceedings.

  The soldiers led Lord and and Lady Holstein out into the center of the courtyard where a block of wood had been positioned. This is where the Kingdom of Palara executed people by beheading them. Execution by beheading was a punishment reserved for members of the nobility or prisoners of some political or religious importance. Ordinary criminals simply had their throats cut by the local Sheriff, but the execution of someone of noble birth required a bit more ceremony.

  Judge Strogen stood in front of the executioner’s wooden block. The executioner, wearing a black hood and clutching his axe, stood patiently to one side.

  “I, Judge Strogen, the Chief Judge of the Kingdom of Palara, hereby authorize the execution of Lord Holstein and Lady Holstein,” announced the judge, as loud as his frail voice would carry.

  The judge stepped to one side and a priest stepped forward to say a prayer over the prisoners. The judge nodded to the soldiers who led Lady Holstein towards the executioner’s block. She was ghostly white, her face pale, her eyes red from crying. Her whole body seemed numb. She knelt down and placed her neck on the block of wood, her chin in the groove that had been specially carved for the purpose.

  Lord Holstein, unable to watch, closed his eyes as he saw the executioner move into position. The executioner slowly raised his heavy iron axe and then brought it swiftly down, the blade slicing cleanly through the long, elegant neck of Lady Holstein. As he heard the thud of the axe blade hitting the wood, Lord Holstein’s body shuddered. He felt sick to his very core. As the soldiers grabbed hold of his arms, he opened his eyes and saw his wife’s lifeless body being unceremoniously dragged away.

  “You will pay for these crimes!” he shouted bitterly at Duke Harald who was watching proceedings with apparent disinterest.

  “My dear Lord Holstein,” smirked Harald, “I’m afraid that it is you who are about to pay for your crimes.”

  Lord Holstein was led to the executioner’s wooden block, freshly stained with the blood of his wife. He knelt down and placed his chin in the groove carved into the block, closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the ugly reality of what was about to happen. The hooded executioner slowly raised up his iron axe and then quickly brought the sharp blade down onto Lord Holstein’s exposed neck, cleanly severing his head from his shoulders, creating a pool of blood t
hat surrounded the block of wood that had ended the lives of so many.

  “Very good.” Harald stood up from his chair and stretched his arms. “I think it might rain today,” he said, examining the dark clouds that were forming in the sky, before striding off back inside the castle, hastily followed by his retinue of guards and attendants.

  29

  “You will be sleeping in the slave quarters at the back of the villa, but most of your time will be spent here in the main house,” explained Badr al Din, the chief housekeeper who had purchased Arexos from the Vandemland slave market.

  Arexos followed the housekeeper in a daze. He was still having difficulty understanding how he now found himself in this position. It seemed only moments ago that he was traveling with his master Henrickson, the captain of the guard at Castle Villeroy. They had paid the Narc smugglers to transport them into Vandemland, but once the blindfolds had been removed, it was clear that the Narcs had betrayed them, deciding to sell them into slavery as retribution for the difficulties that the soldiers of Palara had caused to their smuggling operations.

  Arexos had been pulled from the horse that he had been riding, the blindfold untied, and then chained to a post while the Narcs negotiated his sale to the highest bidder. He had seen his master, Henrickson, being dragged off and thrown onto a cart with other slaves. He had tried to call out to Henrickson but one of the Narcs had slapped him across the face to silence him.

  Arexos hadn’t been able to follow the negotiations that had been swirling around him, but before too long he had been unchained from the post where he was standing and led along to a horse drawn cart. The man that had bought him was Badr al Din, the chief housekeeper who was now patiently explaining the operations of the villa and what Arexos’s duties would entail.