Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (43 page)

“Ouch.
That must have hurt!”

“About
time. Sounds like the Corporal of the Guard showed up. Maybe we’ll get some
action now.”

Within
minutes, one panel of the massive gate opened with a vast groaning of hinges
badly in need of grease.

“Welcome
to Rugen, buddy.”

“Thanks,
Jeff. I feel like I’m about to ride into Camelot.”

“You
are. Khorgan is beautiful, but I truly love this city.”

A
detachment of the city guard was waiting inside and escorted them to Ethbar’s
residence. A newly laid fire was taking hold when they were ushered into the
parlor and offered a cordial. The chairs were comfortable, the fire started to
throw some heat, and Carl nodded off. Jeff poked him awake when Ethbar entered
the room swaddled in a voluminous robe.

Getting
to his feet, Jeff smiled with pleasure. “It gives me joy to see you again,
Ethbar.”

“You
have returned to us, Jeffrey. I am content.”

Rengeld
clumped into the room. Striding over, a smile breaking the stern lines of his
face, he clasped Jeff’s hand.

“Your
presence warms this night beyond any expectation, my friend.”

Jeff
introduced Carl and briefly explained their long friendship while waiting for
chairs to be arranged so they could talk. Ethbar indicated they were to sit by
doing so, and called for another round of wine.

“Although
the hour is late, we deemed your return of such importance, and our impatience
of such magnitude, that we contrived a brief meeting this night. I hope you do
not find such presumption to be excessive.”

“Not
at all. It was thoughtful of you both to greet us so cordially.” Jeff admired
the wine’s golden color. Although somewhat acid, it was a welcome change from
water. “As you point out, the hour is late. Allow me to draw a few broad strokes
this evening to help along discussion on the morrow.”

“As
we feared, the Salchek threat is real. Even as Carl and I set out for Rugen
some six weeks ago, Salchek were moving north in what could only be preparation
for the invasion of Khorgan. It will not entirely surprise you, I am sure, to
hear that Arzak conspires to profit from the Salchek presence. I must also
report that mighty Khorgan whimpers like a cur anticipating the booted heel.”

“I
am surprised and saddened, Jeffrey. Khorgan is a fabled city.” Ethbar shrugged
eloquently. “Still, such is the way of all things that ascend to greatness.”

Jeff
nodded over steepled fingers. “Khorgan’s leaders have failed of their duty, and
its citizens will pay dearly. I do not, however, bear only sad news. It has
been our great fortune to encounter people of worth who have not lost the will
to resist. Merchants of great experience and knowledge, I judge they will
present themselves in caravan at these gates before the onset of winter.”

“That
is good news, indeed, and timely.”

“Yes,
these men will profit Rugen greatly.” Hands comfortably clasped across his
stomach, Jeff nodded toward Carl. “Before we consider other matters, let me
state in what high regard I hold Carl Jorgenson. When shortly I leave for the
North to confederate its people in defense of their lands and of this city,
Carl will remain to apply his vast experience in arcane studies to the benefit
of Rugen. His is a knowledge not yet dreamed of in this land, knowledge which
demands the closest attention.”

Ethbar
smiled at Carl and leaned forward to poke at the fire. “I look forward to long
converse, and will lend whatever authority is mine to assist your efforts.”
Ethbar looked wistfully at his empty glass before handing it to a servant.

“Now,
as you have suggested, Jeffrey, the Salchek presence does not come as a great
surprise. My heart, however, is reassured beyond expectation by the balance of
what you have related. It contains, I warrant, the seeds of hope.”

“Regardless
of the Salchek invasion, if Rugen is to prosper over the years men like Rogelf
and Belstan will be needed.”

“Without
doubt, Jeffrey. Years of isolation are not easily overcome.”

“How
do matters stand now?”

“In
your absence, Rengeld and I have also been diligent. Imogo has been fully informed
of your mission to the south. While concerned, he remains resistant to final
acceptance of the Salchek presence. Moved by love for his family, I believe he
is at least prepared to listen attentively to what you might say,” a grimace of
disgust formed on Ethbar’s lips, “in spite of the counsel offered by a cabal of
lick-spittle courtiers.” He smiled at Rengeld, who had been drumming his
fingers on the chair since sitting down. “Perhaps you would relate your part?”

Virtually
leaping from his chair, Rengeld clasped hands behind his back to give them
something to do. “In truth, much has been accomplished. Yet much more remains
in the balance. As we agreed before you departed, Jeffrey, Ethbar and I
prepared a message and courier against the possibility of your late return. He
was dispatched to our northern cousins’ moot in a timely fashion. I am hopeful
they received him kindly.”

“Gurthwin
and Halric are given to reasoned thought before raising the battle-ax. He will
be given a hearing.” Jeff shrugged doubtfully without realizing it.

Rengeld
nodded agreement. “Let us pray he is stout-hearted.”

Amen
to that, Jeff thought. “How do matters progress with the city guard?”

“Although
Imogo is not fully convinced of the Salchek threat, his concern has made it
possible to increase the garrison. I have been applying myself to that end with
great diligence and some success. However, convincing our sovereign that city
granaries must be filled has been a more difficult task. He is loath to
antagonize beholden duchies by extracting a greater portion of their crop
yields. With the news you bring, I believe progress in that area will now be
possible.”

“I
wouldn’t be surprised. The kingdom is at stake.”

“Indeed
it is.” Unclasping his hands and rubbing them together with a rasping sound, a
huge smile further creased the rough-cut planes of Rengeld’s face. “This
garrison will soon come to understand the meaning of hard work!”

Ethbar
stood up, prompting Jeff and Carl to do the same. “Our first task in the
morning must be to plan a meeting with Imogo that will ensure his full
cooperation. I would be honored if you would both accept the hospitality of my
home for the duration of your stay in Rugen.”

Jeff
soaked in a wonderfully hot bath when he got up, but Carl was due for breakfast
and he had to cut it short. A servant was setting out steaming bowls of gruel
and a tray of glazed rolls when Carl made his appearance looking fresh-scrubbed
and rested. It was such a pleasure to eat hot food totally unrelated to venison
that they took their time and dwelled over a second cup of coffee.

Comfortably
slumped in his chair, Carl looked quizzically at Jeff. “Where did you learn to
speak like you did last night?”

“Don’t
know for sure. It sort of grew on me after being around those two for awhile.
Can’t always find the right phrasing, though, and things come out in a jumble
or I glitch entirely. Wouldn’t be surprised if the same thing happens to you.”
Jeff set his mug down with a solid thump. “Well, what do you say we wander
downstairs and see what’s stirring?”

“About
that time.”

Ethbar
and Rengeld were poring over documents amid a clutter of breakfast crockery
when they walked in. Signaling for a servant to clear the table, Ethbar pushed
the documents away and motioned for them to be seated.

“I
believe a meeting with Imogo can be arranged later this day. Will this give you
sufficient time to prepare, Jeffrey?”

“What
needs to be said is clear in my mind. I only hope Imogo will be receptive.”

Jeff’s
eyes drifted away from Ethbar and out a tall window that faced north. Recalling
memories of ravening hunger and bone-shaking cold, his thoughts leaped far
beyond Rugen’s walls.

“I
must leave within several days, for the task that faces me is daunting and
winter long. I would deeply value any advice you might offer.” Jeff was not
prepared for the degree of fear that accompanied the memories, and he took a
deep breath before continuing.

“I
believe you will agree with me when I say that Rugen is the key to a successful
defense of the North. Yet, will it survive what is to come without allies to
assist in its defense? Rengeld, I am confident your efforts will bear fruit in
the form of a well-trained garrison within the city, but we must have means of
disrupting Salchek plans outside the walls. Shall we allow them to invest Rugen
and assume a leisurely siege that is open to constant resupply from the south?
Even with full granaries, how many months, or even granting years, will Rugen
stand? We cannot permit these conditions to prevail.”

“Ethbar
and I have considered this, Jeffrey. With full granaries, Rugen might endure
for two years.”

“Just
so. The yellow-hairs, or Alemanni as I now term them, must come to understand
that if Rugen falls their lands will soon be overrun. Much as I was driven
south by great urgency, I have come to know it is my task to unite them in
common effort. I fear this task yet see no alternative. Shall I wait until warm
summer months? Will the Salchek be receptive to delaying their invasion in
order to accommodate us?”

It
was a rare occurrence, but Rengeld was taken by surprise. He frowned at Jeff as
if he could not believe his ears. No matter how courageous, there were some
things you just didn’t do. Attempting travel far to the north in the dead of
winter was one of them. Nervous tension drove him to his feet.

“My
friend, what you propose confounds imagination and leads me to fear for your
life. Legends spring from deeds much less severe. While it is more than likely
that the Salchek will surround this city no later than next summer, are you
certain there is no alternative?”

Jeff
shook his head with downcast eyes. Rengeld’s concern had fueled his fear until
it was nearly unbearable.

“There
is no option other than rallying the Alemanni. As you have said with different
words, time is our great enemy. I also agree that unless the Salchek meet
determined opposition in the south we can expect Rugen to be invested no later
than next summer. There will be no opposition in the south.”

Ethbar
winced at what he had to say. “Even as you say, this is your task and must be
attempted this winter. Without its completion our outlook is greatly
diminished.”

Although
his expression gave little away, Ethbar felt like he had just signed Jeff’s
death warrant. He paused to ponder the gods. Why they were using this young man
so harshly. There was no answer. No possibility of understanding the minds of
gods. Ethbar stirred from reflection.

“Come,
let us combine our thoughts and hearts to achieve understanding of this task,
for you must not perish.” Locating a clean sheet of parchment, Ethbar picked up
a stylus. “Let us consider clothing…” They only adjourned when the tailors
Ethbar had summoned showed up.

Some
hours later and standing in front of a tall mirror, Jeff and Carl felt a bit
like two musketeers in drag. The fact that the mirror was full of distortions
didn’t help matters. Baggy pants were stuffed into shiny dragoon boots complete
with rowel spurs, all topped by gold-trimmed doublets and wide-brimmed hats
with long feathers attached.

The
palace was not far from Ethbar’s residence near the central lake, so they
walked. Boot heels clumping on stone paving blocks, spurs and swords jingling
and clinking, the men felt more than a little foolish. As they walked, Ethbar
filled them in on court etiquette.

“…Finally,
do not be dismayed by the rabble posing as courtiers. Their insolence is a
consequence of ignorance, and for a certain number of them something far more
ominous. We will confer privately with Imogo following the audience.”

The
chamberlain kept them waiting in an outer room while he peeked into the
audience chamber. Eventually deeming the timing right, he swung the door wide
and announced their presence. Ethbar swept into the room and stopped three or
four feet from the throne to bow.

“Your
Majesty, I am honored to present Jeffrey Friedrick, our emissary just returned
from the South. Attending him is his trusted companion, Carl Jorgenson.”

As
he walked toward the throne, Carl three steps behind as directed by the
chamberlain, Jeff surveyed the throne room and its occupants. He was not
impressed. The room was no more than forty feet to a side with a centrally
located dais. Tapestries of modest quality covered portions of stone walls.
Even so, the room felt cold. The two objects of obvious quality were the large
carpet of intricate weave on the stone floor, and the ornately carved chair
that served as a throne.

Jeff’s
first impression of Imogo was that of a short, somewhat bored, balding man
sitting nonchalantly on his throne in a heavy robe. He appeared to be in his
late fifties and sported a spade beard dappled with gray. Jeff caught himself
staring at Imogo. For the first time in his life he saw truly black eyes. The
effect was not so much sinister as compelling.