Dark Quest (14 page)

Alex was proud of his men. They had accepted the news of his arrest warrant with a shrug. They knew he was innocent and they stood with him to the man. His men had even come up with a plan to tell anyone who saw them that Alex Tork had fallen in the battle with the goblins. Alex decided that there was little more training the men required and that it was time to do something about the sorry state of the Kingdom. The three men he sent to the fort had just returned with intelligence reports on the temple robberies. He would split the men into groups tomorrow and they would spread across the country to watch temples that were not already on the list of those that had been burglarized. The Rangers were going to catch some murdering thieves.

John Secor was pouring a cup of coffee. “Oscar, how can I make you understand? I am not interested in being King of Targa. I’m a painter and a damn good one, they say. I am happy with my life here in Kantor. The only thing I miss is Callie and I know she couldn’t be in better hands.”

“John, if you don’t come to Tagaret, a tyrant will take leadership of the country. Thousands of people will suffer because you want to paint. Look, come to Tagaret and accept the throne, then you can step down and name your successor. You move back to Kantor and paint.”

Three scruffy men entered the shop and John started to go out front. Oscar put his hand on John’s chest and shook his head. Oscar entered the shop area. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“Are you John Secor, the painter?”

“No. I’m just watching the shop for him. Can I interest you in some of his work?”

“Where is he?”

Oscar looked the men over. They spoke with a Targan accent, as did he. They were well armed and smelled like they hadn’t bathed in a week or more. “He had to run up to the Presidential Palace. President Suarez is giving an art show for him. I believe he will staying overnight. At least he asked me to lock up for him this evening. Perhaps I can help you with your purchase?”

“Not likely. We need him to do a special painting for us, big money in it. It’s something that can’t be done here in the shop, though. Is there any way you can get him out of the Palace?”

“How much money are we talking about?” Oscar queried.

“A lot, that’s how much. What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Well, I’m just as good a painter as he is. Maybe I’ll take the job,” boasted Oscar.

“No way. This job is for Secor only. We don’t care how good you are. Can you get him out or not?”

“Not a chance in the world,” Oscar stated. “I got caught running around with one of the guard’s wives and they’d kill me before they let me in. You could ask at the gate yourselves, though.”

The three men grumbled something unintelligible and stormed out. Oscar returned to the rear and saw the shocked expression on John’s face. “John, this tyrant is not going to let you live. He’s going to want Callie dead, too.”

“All right, Oscar. You win. How are we going to get to Targa without these thugs finding us?”

“I’ve got that covered, John, but you must never speak a word of how we do it.”

Oscar went back into the shop area and cracked open the door. The three thugs were across the plaza arguing amongst themselves. He closed the door and locked it. Peering out the back door, he could see the alley was empty. He grabbed John and they slipped into the alley. John led the way through twisting alleys to the waterfront. They sneaked into Oscar’s office and closed the door. Oscar opened a closet door and moved the clothes aside. Behind the clothes was another Door.

“Walk through this Door and wait for me.” Oscar watched John disappear and he closed the closet door. In the dark he rearranged the clothes before stepping through.

“Where are we?” John asked.

“Deep under the Boulder Mountains,” replied Oscar. “This next door will take us to Dalek. You will have to keep your questions to yourself when we go through, John. We will have Red Swords waiting for us and they know nothing of the Doors.”

“Is this Jenneva’s work?” John asked.

Oscar nodded and led John through the next Door. They emerged in Oscar’s study and Oscar unlocked the door to the hallway. They walked into the hallway and were greeted by Sergeant Ferguson’s smiling face. “Ready for a long ride, Your Highness?”

“I’m not King yet, Sergeant,” John replied.

“All right, Your Majesty. In that case you can call me Fergy.”

John laughed. “And you can call me John, Fergy. Now let’s get on one of those wild beasts and get this over with.”

Colonel Gregor stood before Regent Nelson. “We have had no luck whatsoever finding Tork.”

“Well, Colonel, did you even try to look?” demanded the Regent.

“Yes, Sir. We’ve had men from every outpost in the North sent out in search parties. We even sent a man from Bordon over to Lavinda in case he returned there.”

“Do not take me for a fool, Colonel,” stormed Nelson. “Why would a man return to a ruined village? Either you find Tork or someone else will be running the Red Swords. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear, Sir. You may depend on me. I promise you I will find Tork.”

“Good. Send in the King’s Advisor on your way out.”

Duke Whitley was in a verbal duel with Al’un Neplak, the Sordoan Ambassador. “Ambassador, I can assure you that Targan troops had nothing to do with the unfortunate mishap in Lorgo. We have had similar incidents here in Targa with both Sordoan and Cordonian uniform pieces left behind. Surely you can see that some party wishes to divert our energies from finding them.”

Colonel Gregor cleared his throat and nodded his head towards the next room.

Duke Whitley rose. “Come, Ambassador, the Regent will see you now.” The Duke opened the door for the obese ambassador and followed him into the room. “Regent Nelson, Al’un Neplak, the Sordoan Ambassador.”

Regent Nelson looked up and saw the gaudy purple and yellow wrap-around the fat man was wearing. “Duke Whitley, I don’t have time for practical jokes. Get this fat clown out of here and bring in the Sordoan Ambassador.”

Neplak’s face turned white with rage. Duke Whitley stuttered, “S . . sir,

this is the Sordoan Ambassador.”

Nelson smirked. “Oh. Well then, what is it you want?”

“I have never been treated so poorly in my entire life. I will lodge a formal complaint . . . ”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you will, but will you spit out what it is you’ve come to say,” demanded the Regent.

“I certainly will! I have come here as a good neighbor to demand an explanation for your army’s incursion into Lorgo,” the flustered ambassador blurted.

Regent Nelson calmly stood and walked over to the ambassador. “Let me make a few things clear to you. First, Sordoa has never been a good neighbor to Targa. You are always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Your border should end where the sand ends. Second, I would never divulge my army’s troop movements to the enemy. Now, having said that, why don’t you get your wretched, foul-smelling, obese body out of this room and never come back!” Regent Nelson was practically screaming as he finished the statement and his face was only inches from the Sordoan’s.

Al’un Neplak turned and stormed out of the room. Duke Whitley was mortified. He could never imagine that a leader of a country would act so irresponsibly. He started to protest, but the Regent just told him to leave. He walked out and closed the door. Colonel Gregor was waiting outside. “Duke Whitley, it is time for us to talk privately.”

The Colonel led the duke to his office and closed the door. “Duke Whitley, I believe the Regent has lost his mind. Targa has a madman at its helm.”

Duke Whitley sighed. “I fear you are correct, Colonel, but now we may have a bigger problem. I believe we are going to war with Sordoa.”

“I couldn’t help but hear the end of the conversation and I believe you are correct. John Secor is on his way here at this very moment. I expect that he will be here in time for the deadline. Is there anything that you can do to delay the Regent’s coronation?”

“I doubt it. The coronation could be held any time the Council of Advisors believe they have the rightful king to crown, but once the thirty days are up, the Regent will be crowned. If you could get Secor here earlier, I believe I could get the Council to act.”

“Do you need the entire council? Perhaps we could get the council to meet Secor half way.”

“A simple majority would suffice, but I can’t imagine the Council rushing to embrace Secor when they had never heard of him until a week ago. Is it possible to get the army to act in delaying the coronation?”

Colonel Gregor paced the office. “The Red Swords would act, but General Clark would never. We would be inviting civil war at a time when we will need the army to defend the Kingdom against its neighbor. No, I don’t think that is feasible.”

“Well, we have to do something quick. The Palace is already decked out for the coronation. I am going down to Oscar’s office here in town. Perhaps I can get some of his guard to kidnap the ambassador until we have things straightened out here.”

“I like your style, Duke Whitley. I have another group that I can call on also. I will visit with them. It won’t hurt to have two groups after the ambassador. Let’s kidnap him gently, though. I imagine from his girth that a few days of fine food and drink would keep him occupied and leave him in a better mood.”

The Duke laughed. “Watch it, Colonel, you may end up a Duke like Oscar.”

The men split up and hurried out of the Palace. Meanwhile, up in the Council Chambers, Regent Nelson entered with several of his aides. “Gentlemen, I have serious news. Sordoa has just declared war on Targa.”

The faces of the dukes around the table grew pale. Confusion reigned and everyone started asking questions at the same time. The regent held up his hand for silence. “The Sordoan Ambassador just left in a huff after his declaration. It appears that I was correct about our neighbors being prepared to strike during our period without a King.”

“Is there nothing we can do to forestall this declaration for a week?” asked Duke Lanker.

“There is one thing that might evade war,” schemed the Regent. “Move the coronation up to today. Let our enemies see that we have united under a new King.”

Duke Eddington explained, “We can’t possibly move it up. Secor hasn’t arrived yet and we have no idea when he will.”

Regent Nelson smiled. “What does that matter? None of you have ever heard of Secor before. The man may be dead or he could be loony as a bird. Don’t forget the man is a Cordonian. He has never lived a day in his life in Targa. Do you really want to risk our entire nation on some foreigner who may just sign us over to some other country’s control?”

“But he is of Royal Blood,” stated Duke Lanker.

“So it is better to be ruled by one of the proper blood than by one whom you know is an experienced ruler?” offered Nelson. “Is the only thing this Secor can offer you his blood? We have to move quickly, gentlemen. We have to have a King in place before the Sordoan Ambassador reaches the border. That is the only way to avert war. Let us bring it to a vote right now. All in favor of a coronation today, raise your hand.”

Only four of the dukes raised their hands. Dalgar focused on Duke Moran and Aurora focused on his neighbor. Slowly, their hands went up.

“Excellent!” proclaimed Regent Austin Nelson. “Let us assemble in the courtyard immediately and proclaim King Austin, King of Targa.”

The other council members had little to say. If the two other council members had been there, it would have been a tie. Now they had no choice but to go forward with the coronation. Nelson would not allow time for the public to be invited. General Clark was summoned and told to witness the coronation. The whole service was over in half an hour.

At the end of the coronation, the Palace bells were rung and runners were sent out into the city to proclaim that Targa had a new King. “Long live King Austin!” was shouted from the towers.

Colonel Gregor stiffened. Somehow Nelson had done the impossible. The Council of Advisors had just crowned a madman. “Forget the Ambassador, Larc. We’re going to war. I have to get to Secor and get him to safety. If he comes into Tagaret now, he will surely die. The Red Swords will not fight against a rightful King.”

“How about the Red Sword in this room?” Larc asked. “Will he fight for our new King?”

“I will fight for Targa, Larc. I will kill Sordoans and I will kill Cordonians if called to do so. If you are asking if I will abandon Alex, the answer is no. This man may be the legal King, but he is not the rightful King. He is mad and he can ruin all of Targa. I will stand with Alex, but I cannot expect my men to do the same. Fergy will stand with Alex whether I do or not, but I cannot speak for the others. I may not even head the Red Swords for long. It is best that I remove myself from the capital before I get an order that I don’t wish to receive.”

“Where will you go, Colonel?”

“First, I must see to Secor’s safety, then . . . I don’t know. I would love to find Alex, but I fear that may be impossible. If the word I sent got through, he will be hiding well. Keep your Spiders intact, Larc. We are going to need them now more than ever. I need a horse. Can I have one of yours?”

“Certainly, take whichever one you want. Ride swiftly, my friend.”

Colonel Gregor rode out of town gathering the Red Swords along the road as he passed them. When he reached Secor, he would have a thousand men. Now he wished he had spread three thousand along the trail.

Duke Whitley also heard the bells. He also realized the futility of chasing the Ambassador. He had no stomach for returning to the Palace right now. There would be time to deal with the madman tomorrow. He was certain that Nelson had done all the damage today that he was going to do. Likely, he would spend the rest of the day celebrating with his new aides. Whitley wondered where he was finding all these young aides. Probably friends of his little mistress, he speculated.

Duke Whitley decided to head for the Palace Shadow for dinner and an early bedtime. As he passed the Palace he heard the shouts from the tower. So that was Nelson’s first name, Austin. Strange society, he mused. You get to be a Duke and nobody knows your name anymore. The thought struck him how humorous it was. Oscar still called him Duke Whitley. He would rectify that when they next met.