Forever Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 3) (9 page)

Conner let out a long sigh.  “Fine.”

Without another word, Conner led them through the underbrush to the edge of the water.  The ship was near the center of the lake, likely because the draft of the ship was too much for the shallow waters.  The forest wrapped around the lake, but they could see an opening to the south where the lake fed into the Gulf of Taran.  The ship was long and lean, constructed unlike anything either Conner or Hargon had ever seen.  There were two masts, one in the center, and one near the bow.  The sails were down and the anchor was deployed.  They could see movement on the deck of the ship, but more importantly, they could see a boat rowing towards shore.

“They look harmless enough,” Hargon said.

Conner pointed to their right.  “They are heading for that beach.  We’ll wait until they land, and then we’ll come out and greet them.  Hopefully they won’t try and kill us first.”

Conner and Hargon slipped back into the trees and moved as silently as they could towards the beach.  They watched from behind a large fallen tree as the small boat approached.  There were four people in the boat.  Two of them were rowing and the other two were holding up a large cask.  As they got to the short, sandy beach, one of the rowers climbed up onto the bow and with a rope in one hand, leaped incredibly far from the boat to the sand.  He turned and pulled the boat up until it was firmly stuck.  The other three sailors climbed out of the boat while the fourth ran the rope up the beach and tied it around a tree.

As he was walking back towards the other three, the first sailor glanced back to where Hargon and Conner were hiding.  Conner knew that he couldn’t have been seen, as they were hidden behind thick underbrush.  They hadn’t moved and hadn’t hardly breathed at all, but Conner had a feeling that they were spotted. 

The leaping sailor gathered with his companions and they were obviously talking, but in a volume that couldn’t be heard.  Conner thought there was something odd about the sailors, but he couldn’t place what it was.  They were all lean and tall with straight hair of varying lengths.  They were dressed a bit oddly, as far as Conner was concerned, but he had never seen many sailors in his life, so he didn’t know if they were dressed normally or not.  But they certainly weren’t dressed for the cold, winter air.  They had pants that only went to just below the knees, and their feet were bare.  That was the oddest thing that Conner noticed.  No boots or shoes, just bare feet.  But they certainly didn’t act like they were cold, even when they were standing on wet land.  He was cold just watching them.

With their conversation obviously done, all four sailors turned and looked directly towards Conner and Hargon.  Conner looked at the former emperor, who just shrugged his shoulders.  The sailors didn’t act threatening or make any motions that they felt threatened, either.  They simply stood, looking directly at them.  Finally, Conner stood and pushed his way through the underbrush.  Hargon followed.

“Hello!” Conner shouted, with a friendly wave.  He walked across the loose sand, directly towards the sailors.  They did not acknowledge him and remained still.  All three had daggers stuck in their belts, but they did not draw them or act like they were going to draw them.

“
Hoy!
” Hargon shouted, giving a common greeting in Taran.

This caused the four sailors to glance at one another.  Conner and Hargon came to a stop about ten feet away.  Close enough to talk, but far enough to not be threatening.

One of the sailors stepped forward.  He looked the oldest, but that wasn’t saying much.  All four looked very young, not much older than Conner.  Their faces were smooth and chiseled.  Their eyes large and their eye lashes long and dark. They spoke some words, but Conner did not recognize anything he was saying.  He turned to Hargon, who was looking at the man closely.

“He has pointed ears,” Hargon said.

Then Conner realized that was the odd thing that he could not place.  All their ears came to a point at the top, something that he only knew from stories he heard as a young child.  He remembered that they had been called elves, but the elves of his stories didn’t look like these four.  The elves of his childhood were always described as short and fat with rosy cheeks and a mischievous demeanor.

The first sailor spoke again.

This time, Hargon nodded his head and said to Conner, “They speak Taran.  A very formal version of Taran like what is spoken only in special ceremonies.  He is asking why we were hiding from them.”

“Are they elves?”

“You mean the mythical creatures of legend?  Creatures that sneak into bedrooms at night and steal children to eat them?”

“What?”

“When I was a child, I had an old maid that told stories of magical creatures that fueled their magical powers by consuming young children who didn’t fall asleep when it was time to get to bed.  She called them elves.  I never believed her.”

“How about now?”

“I still don’t believe her.”  He stepped forward, spreading his hands to show that he was unarmed.  To the sailors, he said, “Greetings!”

The first sailor turned to his three companions and spoke for a moment.  They nodded and retrieved the cask from the small boat.  They placed the cask on the beach and placed a long tube from the top of the cask and into the water.  In the center of the hose was a bubble that one of the sailors began squeezing.  After about five squeezes, water started to flow through the tube and into the cask.

While the cask was being filled, Hargon spoke with the first sailor.  Both seemed to have a hard time with the conversation and many words were repeated.  Although the sailors could speak and understand some Taran, they weren’t very proficient in the language.

“I told them that we had seen their ship and were curious about them as we are looking to gain passage to a small city to the east.  They do not seem interested at all in taking us aboard.”

“What about provisions?” Conner asked.

Hargon relayed the question.  After the sailor replied, Hargon turned to Conner and said, “They have some fish they could offer us, but little else.  They seem not to have need for blankets or fur pelts as they claim to have none to give us.”

“We will die without help,” Conner said.

Hargon nodded and spoke again.  This time, the sailor flared his nostrils and turned and spat on the sand next to him.

“He does not seem to care whether we live or die,” Hargon said.  “Oh, and yes, they are elves.”

“How do you know?”

Hargon chuckled.  “I asked them.  I’m just glad they understand Taran, although they seem to be a bit rusty with it.”

The elves were thin and lean, similar to Conner’s body style, but even more skinny.  The one elf had made a very graceful move in getting from boat to land, but Conner wondered if would he be able to use those moves in a fight.  If he and Hargon were quick enough, they could overpower the four elves and take their boat.  Conner’s plan ended there.  If they took the boat, what would they do, row back to the ship and try and take that as well?  He was certainly no sailor and he doubted that Hargon was one, either.

The three other sailors finished filling their cask with water and pulled the tube out of the top and pounded a cork into the hole at the top.  They began to tie a rope around it with the obvious intention of towing the cask back to the ship.  The lead elf turned his head and spoke to his fellow sailors, turning his attention away from Conner.  That’s when Conner knew he had to move.

The loose sand slowed him down, but he was able to reach the elf before he reacted.  Conner drove his shoulder into the elf’s chest, sending him hard onto the sand.  Conner both felt and heard the breath being knocked from the elf, who started kicking and punching back.  The elf was much stronger than he expected, but not stronger than him.  But he moved much quicker than Conner and almost escaped his grasp.  Using his superior strength, Conner was able to wrestle the elf to the ground and pull the elf’s dagger out of his belt.  The he rolled on top of the elf and held it at his throat.

“Tell them that they are going to take us to Iseron.  That’s all we want.”

The three other elves had reacted slowly, but they held their ground with one of their own having a sharp dagger at his throat.  Hargon relayed the message.  None of the elves spoke.  They just looked at one another.

Finally, the lead elf flawlessly spoke in Commoner, “I will give you your provisions, but I will not have your man-stink on my ship.”

Conner glanced at Hargon and asked the elf, “You speak Commoner?”

“I can speak many languages.  The words of your language are like wet dung on my lips.  It sickens me to even speak them.”

“You will take us to Iseron,” Hargon said.  “It must be only a couple hour’s sail from here.”

The elf closed his eyes.  “Iseron is what you call the city to the east?”  He looked up at Conner and over at Hargon.  “Very well.  Now get off me.”

“I don’t think so,” Conner said.  “How will I know that you will not try and kill us?”

The elf laughed.  “Unlike the word of man, the word of an elf can be trusted.”  He glanced down at the dagger at his throat.  “Not to mention, we are sailors, not soldiers.”

Conner stood up, but held on to the dagger.  “I will keep this.  Until we get to Iseron.”

“It is not necessary,” the elf said.  “You have my word.  It pains me to do so, but I will guarantee you safe passage to this city of yours.”

Without the cask, the boat was big enough for six.  It took longer to row out to the ship with the cask in tow, but they beat the darkness.  When they reached the ship, Conner was allowed to climb up the rope ladder first.  He kept the dagger tucked in his belt and his hand ready to use it.  When he climbed over the railing and onto the deck of the ship, he was surprised to see ten other sailors staring at him.  Although they were not threatening, they did not necessarily appear friendly, either.

Hargon followed Conner, huffing and puffing his way up the rope ladder.  The four elves hopped onto the deck just after Hargon.  The first elf approached another elf who had a scraggly beard and they talked for some time.  The scraggly bearded elf kept looking over Conner, nodding his head.

Finally, scraggly beard approached Conner and said, “I am Captain Janari, captain of this boat.  He glanced at Hargon and studied him for a moment before returning his attention to Conner.  “The dagger?  It is not yours.”

Conner pulled it out of his belt and held it.  “If I give this to you, I lose my leverage.”

“Such actions are not necessary,” Janari said.  “You have been promised safe travel.  It will be so.”

Conner glanced at Hargon, who gave a quick nod.  He handed the dagger to Janari, who gave it to its owner.  The sailors quickly dispersed.  Some to tend to the sails, others to lift the cask from the water.

“You stare at my ears?” Janari asked.

“I have never seen them,” Conner replied.  “Only in stories, children’s stories, did we hear of elves.”

“The world is changing,” Janari said.  “Your city of Iseron can only be a day or so walk from here.  Why do you need my ship to take you?”

“This is all we have,” Conner said.  “A light cloak, a thick wool tunic.  I found a flint stone for lighting a fire, but we have nothing else.”

Janari shook his head.  “It is winter.  Do you not travel with supplies?”

Hargon gave Conner a look that told him to not say too much, but Conner felt the need to explain enough to stop the captain from asking more questions.  “We were waylaid by bandits.  They took all our supplies.”

Janari nodded his head.  “It will be cold tonight.  You would not have easily survived the night.  We will make for Iseron and arrive in a few hours.  You are welcome aboard, but do not interfere with my sailors.  You should find a quiet place on the deck out of the wind and out of our way.”  With that, he turned and stalked off.

Hargon let out a long sigh.  “At least we’re safe.”

“Yes,” Conner said.  “But elves?  What is going on with this world?”

Chapter Eight

Captain Gorge expertly guided the Flying Narwhal into the mouth of the Tyre River where it dumped into the eastern waters of the Gulf of Taran.  He stood atop a slightly raised deck at the back of the ship giving him full view of the sea and the river.  Even though it was midday, there were no other boats in sight, which made his job that much easier.  During the spring and summer months, his ship would not have been the only one to making a cargo drop at the docks along the river.  He would have to maneuver around the many other ships who were trying to drop their cargo off as quickly as they could and return for another load.

It had been some time since had had made the trek from his home port of Denalli all the way this far east.  Denalli was one of the larger Taran cities near the far southwest edge of the empire taking a good ten days of travel by boat to reach Tara City.  Karmon was so close to Tara City by way of water, it was really not worth his time and money.  He could make so much more money on the longer voyages.  But he certainly owed this Marik fellow a big favor, for if he had not come along when he did, the Taran Navy would have stopped him and likely would have wanted to take a good look around his cargo hold.  Although most of his what he carried was legal, there was also a small bit of a highly prized, and highly priced, item that was not in favor of the emperor.  His current load included several casks of a highly potent liquor that would have fetched a hefty import tax if the greedy Tax Masters found out about it.

He glanced over at Marik, who was perched against the port side railing, his eyes fixed upon the castle at the top of the city of South Karmon.  Even though the city itself was a good mile away from the river, the strong tall towers of the castle could easily be seen looking down upon the city, guarding it as it had for so many years.  There was a sadness about Marik that he did not hide well.  He had been pleasant enough to talk to over the past day, and he tried to smile, but still there was something weighing heavily upon his heart.  If their journey had been any longer, he might have broken out one of those casks and shared a night of storytelling and drinking.  But now that they had arrived at his home, he would make a quick turnaround and head back to the sea, skirting around the range of the naval ships and back to his home.

A shout from the crow’s nest directly above his head brought the captain back to his senses.  He grumbled at himself for being distracted and quickly shouted back a command.  His sailors reacted in kind and began preparing their lines for casting to the pier that they were approaching.  His ship was small enough that he could just run it up along the pier and dock it there.  He knew of many ships that took trips even farther out in the world that would never have made it into the river.  Those ships had many longboats that would transfer their cargo from ship to shore, sometimes taking several days to move it all.

His crew was highly trained and as seasoned as any in the empire.  He trusted them to do their jobs, and they did so with enthusiasm and skill.  He did not need to tell them how to do their work, and he really didn’t need to tell them when to do it.  But as captain, he held the responsibility of his ship, so they waited for him to give the orders that they already knew were coming.  Sometimes he took the tiller on his own, but this time he let Fetter, his best pilot, take hand of the tiller.

“Slow and steady,” the captain said.

“Aye,” Fetter replied.  “The current is pulling a bit.  Stronger than she looks.”

“Very well,” the captain said.  “Hold the sails up a bit longer, then.”

Using the current of the river to slow them down, the ship came upon the pier that ran parallel to the river.  If the current slowed them down too much, they wouldn’t reach the pier, then they would have to turn into the current, go back out to sea, and catch the wind again.  If they came in too fast, they would simply go past the pier, turn around and float back down the river and slide easily right next to the pier.  The easy way for a ship to dock here was to do just that, to sail up the middle of the river and then turn around and catch the pier on the way back down.  But Captain Gorge was experienced and confident and he knew his crew could handle the more difficult challenge.  He also trusted his crew to give him good feedback as to the conditions of the river, such as a current that was stronger below the surface than appeared above.  With his hands on the tiller, only Fetter could really feel the strength of the current.

Captain Gorge ordered the sails cut only just as they neared the pier and sure enough, the strong current grabbed the boat and slowed her down quickly.  But she had enough momentum to continue right along.  Dockhands were ready and waiting to catch lines tossed by the Flying Narwhal’s crew and quickly secured them as the ship came to a slow stop.  A moment later, the lines stretched and creaked as the stiff current tried to pull the ship back down river, but Captain Gorge’s ship was secure.

“Fine job, all!” the captain shouted.  The crew returned a quick cheer.  “You have the night to yourselves!  Be aboard at the break of dawn, or you’ll be left here forever!”

The crew gave an even louder and longer cheer.  They all had duties to finish before they could take their shore leave, but with a night in a strange city ahead of them, they quickly jumped on their tasks to finish them as quickly as they could.

Marik approached the captain, his face still grim and sorrowful.  “Thank you again for bringing me home.”

“It was my pleasure,” Captain Gorge said, tapping the small bag of coins tied to his belt.  “Your coins will be spent tonight on all sort of depraved and illicit activities!”

“You will not stay longer?  I could bring you to the castle, to meet the queen.”

The captain took a step back and raised his hands in horror.  “No, no, no!  To even think of a woman at the helm could bring a curse upon us all.  No, I will stay as far away from that as I can and just enjoy the fruits of your city!”  He let out his boisterous laughter.  “My men have had a prosperous, but long year.  We look forward to wintering back at home and staying one day longer than necessary will just put them in a bad mood for the return trip home.  And their mood is sour enough since we lost our last stop.”

“Can you not sell your cargo here?”

“Only at a hefty loss, I’m afraid.  I would rather keep it with me and take it back home and then try and sell it.”

“What about Tyre?”

“Tyre?”

“Tyre is Karmon’s other city up river.  They rarely get shipments this time of year.  Maybe you could make more off your cargo selling it up there.”

Captain Gorge scratched his cheek.  “Tyre, yes, I am familiar with the city, but I have never been there.  Will the ship make it that far?”

“I am not a sailor, much less a captain, so I do not know.  But I do know that the river is wide and deep all the way up to the village of Sage and past.  Sage is about halfway up the river.  You might even be able to sell your cargo there.”

“It may be worth the time to try.  Given the choice, I would not like to carry the cargo across the open seas at this time of year.  Plus, with an empty hull, she’ll go that much faster.”

“I must depart, as I have news for the queen.”

Captain Gorge stepped forward and held out a hand.  Marik gripped it tightly and gave it a strong shake.  Then he stepped out onto the gangplank that the sailors had just finished setting out.  He was glad to be back home, but being home meant revealing the death of Conner to Elissa.  Her heart would be broken and even though she was a strong woman, she was still young.  There really was no telling how exactly she would handle the news, but he feared that she would not take it well.  Losing two loved ones in the same year would truly break her heart.  But the news had to be delivered and he was the only one who could do it.

He trotted down the gangplank and took a wobbly step on pier.

“I am sorry!” Captain Gorge called from the deck of his ship.

Marik turned, a questioning look on his face.

“Your friend, I am sorry he died.”

“You are a good man, Captain Gorge.  I hope to see you again someday.”

“Fair well, Sir Marik!”

Marik smiled.  “I am no longer a knight, I no longer own such a title.”  With a wave, he turned and walked away.

Captain Gorge leaned on the deck railing and said softly, “Once a knight, forever a knight, Sir Marik.”

***

Marik walked solemnly through the riverside district, his cloak pulled tightly around his body.  Although the buildings along the river were nearly a mile from the city gates, they were still considered to be a part of South Karmon. There was a large warehouse that was shared by many merchants and businessmen to store their wares before they left on boats, or after they arrived.  Built up around the warehouse were other businesses that served the sailors who came and went.  Marik knew the sailors of the Flying Narwhal would be disappointed in the offerings.  Most of the taverns and inns closed up for the winter, the barmaids and barkeeps heading to the main part of the city until the ship traffic returned in the spring.  But there were still one or two establishments that were still open through the winter and they would certainly be welcome.

After only a few hundred yards, he was out of the riverside district and on the road to the city.  His eyes were stuck on the towers of the castle, wondering if Queen Elissa was sitting in one, waiting patiently for word of Conner’s fate.  He rehearsed his words, and with each step, he found them inadequate and kept changing what he was going to say.  By the time he reached the main gate, he was convinced that he was not the one to give her the news and he should just let someone else tell her.

He was recognized at the main gate and was greeted warmly by a former knight.  He said little about his adventure, only saying that his time in Taran was productive.  To avoid further interruptions, he made sure the hood of his cloak was pulled lower over his forehead and he walked with long, purposeful strides.  In no time, he reached the castle gates, but the right words still had not come to him.  But his time for coming up with the right words was gone.  He would just have to march right up to her and tell her plainly that Conner was dead.

Although Karmon was a small kingdom, she was still one of proper protocol.  One was not supposed to just march right up to the queen and demand an audience with her.  But that was just what he did.

The queen’s main receiving chambers were guarded by two fully armored guards, standing as still as they could, right hands gripping razor-sharp halberds.  Their eyes were steady, focused on an imaginary point on the far wall directly in front of them.  As Marik approached, their eyes shifted to him, as they were instructed.  They were both barely old enough to even handle sharp weapons.  One of them had a little fuzz on his face and the other’s face was completely smooth.  They were young, around the age of Conner.  A little older than boys, but not quite men.  Usually the honor of serving as guard to the king, or queen, was reserved for those deemed most worthy, not as a tool for training young almost-soldiers in how to stand guard.  But it was a new time with new military leadership.

“I have come for an audience with the queen,” Marik said sharply and confidently.

One of the guards flinched, which surprised Marik.  Either this was his first time at guard duty, or something was going on that he was not aware of.  The guard rapped the end of his halberd on the stone floor three times.  A moment later the door opened.

The youthful face of Denlin, the court attendant, appeared between the double doors.  His eyes narrowed when he saw Marik.  “You do not have an appointment.”

Marik glared down at the small, boyish looking man.  “We have done this before.  It will not end well for you.”  This was not the first time that he came into this chamber seeking an audience.  The last time it was for Elissa’s father, King Thorndale.  He was no threat and the guards knew it.  He would barge right through the little man just like he did the last time.

“Guards!” Denlin called out.  In unison, the two guards crossed their halberds right in front of Marik, their sharp edges pointed at his face.  “I have trained these personally.”

“I have news for the queen.”

Denlin held out a hand.  “I shall deliver the message to the queen herself.”

“It is for her and her alone,” Marik said.  “She sent me personally on this mission, and I am here to report back to her.”

“Tell me,” Denlin said stubbornly, his arms crossed and standing with his feet spread wide as if he were going to block an entire regiment of soldiers from marching through to see the queen.  He tried to give a threatening look, but his face was just too soft and youthful looking.

Marik took a long, deep breath.  He knew he was losing control and it didn’t happen very often.  That empty feeling of losing Conner was beginning to turn into something else more dangerous.  There was no patience, especially for this sniveling little man.  The court attendant was not really an important man, but he couldn’t just kill him.  Right now, he wished he could, but he couldn’t let himself get in that much trouble.

“Like I said, we’ve been here before,” Marik said with a low, soft voice.  He was trying desperately to maintain his bearing, but this little man was not helping.  “The last time, I believe a put a forearm across your chest.”