Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web - Volume 1 (16 page)

“Well, Sam, I don’t think the Kanesbury village council planned such an activity to coincide with the Harvest Festival,” his mother said with a disgusted smirk.

“Who got killed?” Mr. Nellis asked. “What happened?”

His son explained the details he had collected by word of mouth the previous night, describing a foiled robbery, an escaped criminal and a dastardly murder. Mr. and Mrs. Nellis had never heard of Arthur Weeks when Sam mentioned the victim’s name. “I’m not sure who the guy was exactly. I couldn’t get every scrap of information. Too much commotion. Search parties throughout the village all night. Really exciting!”

“
Oh dear
...” Mrs. Nellis shook her head, turning the eggs over in the frying pan and pinching some black pepper in a dish to sprinkle over them. The thinly sliced beef sizzled in its juices.

“Who killed him?” Holly asked eagerly.

“Some guy,” Sam said.

“Holly, I don’t think you should be listening to this talk,” Mrs. Nellis cautioned.

“
Aw,
Mom!”

“Leave the girl alone,” Mr. Nellis said, his plate now cleaned.

“The murderer worked with the guy he killed, from what I gathered,” Sam added.

“Really?” Mrs. Nellis said, fascinated. She transferred the eggs and beef to a plate.

Holly sighed loudly, rolling her eyes. “So who did it, Sam?”

“Holly!”

“Sally, let the girl be.”

“No one you’d know,” Sam said, teasing his sister.

“Dad, make him tell me!”

“Sam, don’t annoy your sister.”

“I’m not!”

Mrs. Nellis was walking over with the plate. “Breakfast on the way, Sam. More bread?”

“So who was he?” Mr. Nellis snapped.

“Yeah, Sam, who was he?” echoed Holly.

“No more bread, Ma.” Sam gulped his cider, setting the mug down with a thump before turning with a sigh and glaring at Holly. “The guy’s name is Nicholas Raven, as if it makes any difference to you!”

Sam’s plate dropped from Mrs. Nellis’ hand and crashed to the floor. She stood paralyzed, her son’s breakfast scattered at her feet. Russell Nellis leaned back in his chair, the kitchen walls spinning in front of his eyes. Sam blinked in confusion as Holly jumped out of her chair and pressed her nose to the front window, searching the landscape.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, observing everyone’s surprise while scratching his neck.

“Nicholas never planned to use the privy,” Holly said, her head buried in the curtains. “His blanket roll is missing off the porch steps.” She turned and faced her bewildered family. “He’s gone!”

Nicholas ran along Grangers Road, distancing himself from the Nellis household until he felt safe to walk again. He imagined with horror the expressions on Russell and Sally’s faces should their son ever mention the name Nicholas Raven in connection with a murder. He felt awful for running out after the hospitality that the Nellis family had shown him, but he knew he had no choice. He wondered if they might contact the authorities in Kanesbury, tipping off Constable Brindle as to his whereabouts, or worse yet, come after him on their own. He occupied himself with these uncomfortable thoughts for the next half hour, constantly craning his neck to look back and pausing to listen for the rumble of galloping horses.

But after an hour had passed without meeting anyone other than a scattering of farmhands tending to their chores, Nicholas again felt safe. He unbuttoned his coat as the rising sun gently beat down. The tranquil countryside refreshed him, offering only the sounds of a passing breeze, some chattering blue jays and an occasional lowing cow, quite opposite the bedlam he pictured now overwhelming Kanesbury. He quickened his pace.

Not wanting to stray too far to the northwest, he left Grangers Road twenty minutes later and headed for an expanse of woods to his left. He figured he could spend most of the day concealed among the trees while working his way south. Nicholas planned to emerge from his wooded refuge before dusk and hike through the fields to River Road and walk the rest of the way to the village of Mitchell to see what fate awaited him.

When safely in the woods after noontime, Nicholas sat down against a tree to rest. He devoured some of the bread and meat Katherine had provided and drank ice cold water from a stream. The warmth and light of the open air didn’t reach into the dampness of the shadowy woods and he soon felt chilled again. He turned up his collar and buttoned his coat, feeling the spot where one button was missing.

He recalled when Constable Brindle held up the piece of incriminating evidence in the Water Barrel Inn for all to see, condemning Nicholas on the spot in the eyes of many. He racked his mind to figure out how that button had ended up near the pile of spilled flour. He knew Arthur Weeks had lied about him being at the gristmill on the night of the robbery and wondered if he might have planted the button there himself. But how? He imagined Arthur sneaking into his work area while he was temporarily away from his desk, ripping a button from his jacket before slinking away unnoticed. He couldn’t think of any other explanation.

But Nicholas wanted not to think about it. It made him too angry and he pushed the wicked affair out of his mind. Still having plenty of time to reach River Road before dusk, he decided to catch a nap. Finding a bed of leaves and undergrowth deeper inside the woods, he wrapped his blanket over him, lay down and fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes, Nicholas spotted a ray of orange sun slipping in through the trees, bathing a pile of freshly fallen leaves in a crimson fire. He stretched sleepily as if waking up on a day off from work until realizing that the sun shot in low from the west. He had slept away the entire afternoon.

Nicholas hurriedly collected his things and shuffled through the leaves and twigs to the edge of the trees. A rich blue sky blanketed a field of grass and brushwood painted gold by the fading sun. Accounting for uneven terrain, he estimated it would take forty minutes to reach River Road. He started at once, tramping south through shadows as a starry twilight descended.

A rural landscape of farmhouses, apple orchards and pasture fences was transformed into a sprawling silhouette pasted against a ribbon of light along the southwest horizon. The crescent Fox Moon lounged lazily on high. The invigorating air of the open road mingled with the spicy scent of decaying grass and wildflowers upon acres of rich farm soil. He breathed it in to clear his head. When he finally reached River Road, he felt momentarily at peace.

Nicholas hurried along west, now less than a mile from the village of Mitchell. Approaching its eastern border, he spotted an array of campfires scattered ahead in a field on the right side of the road. Moving closer, he saw a cluster of tents had been pitched in the grass. He heard voices and noted shadowy figures moving around the flames. Nicholas slowed as he neared the encampment when a dark figure suddenly jumped out of the shadows into the middle of the road, blocking his path.

“Who dare passes by unannounced?”

Nicholas froze. His heart pounded when he saw a glint of moonlight reflecting off a dagger pointed directly at him. “I’m Nicholas Raven from Kanesbury,” he said, eyeing the knife as if it were a snake ready to strike. “Who are you?”

“I’ll tell you,” a second voice disgustedly said. A man rushed toward them from near the campfires. “He’s a fool of a soldier who’s going to be rationed to one meal a day if our captain catches him harassing the locals.” The second man pushed the other away from Nicholas. “Get back to you tent, Earl! Battle might find you soon enough.”

“Oh, I was just having a little fun,” Earl muttered before shuffling off to the campsite. “You’re always so serious, Hal.”

Hal shook his head apologetically. He was only a few years older than Nicholas though appeared much more mature for his age. “Sorry about Earl’s misplaced enthusiasm. He’s an antsy sort. Desires to be in the thick of danger even if he has to conjure it up himself.”

Nicholas straightened his collar. “A long hike in the hills might calm him down.”

“Good idea.”

Nicholas shook Hal’s hand in thanks and then pointed to the tents. “Why are you people camped out here?”

Hal led Nicholas to one of the fires and offered him some dried venison, biscuits and water. He made a few introductions to others nearby. “We’re soldiers from Montavia. Two hundred of us, all volunteers, passing through Arrondale with the permission of King Justin. Some of us are to train with his soldiers at Graystone Garrison less than twenty miles west of here. The rest will march to Morrenwood for instruction. But if need arises, we’ll ride into battle together should the war in the south take a turn for the worse.”

“How long have you been on the march?” Nicholas asked with envy, wistfully recalling his desire to join the King’s Guard.

“About seven days.”

“Seven? I didn’t see you in Kanesbury. This road passes through my village.”

“We didn’t use River Road until now,” Hal informed him. “Our captain led us from Montavia through jagged mountains, over windswept hills and across rivers and streams. All part of our training. Using roads would be, well, too easy.”

“Right now a day’s march along a dirt road would suit me just fine,” one of the others joked. “I expected more adventure than sore muscles when I volunteered.” His companions laughed.

“You’ll have your wish shortly,” Hal said. “There’s less than two day’s journey before the remainder of us reach King’s Road. The captain told me we’ll march directly to the capital from there. Soon we’ll unite with our fellow countrymen abroad in service to our great King Rowan.”

Nicholas appeared surprised. “Others from Montavia are training in Morrenwood?”

Hal nodded. “Ours is a small kingdom, tucked safely between the Keppel and Ridloe Mountains. But we’re not naïve. The stench of war in the air from the south is unlike any Laparia has known. Many hands are involved in it, some unseen. And should it spread this way... Well, Montavia must protect itself at any cost.”

“Still, why train with Arrondale’s army?”

“Though King Rowan keeps his own guard, Montavia has avoided war for most of its history,” he explained. “To better prepare ourselves, King Rowan requested of King Justin that our troops be allowed to train with his, to which your monarch readily agreed.”

Nicholas warmed his hands over the crackling flames as a thin trail of smoke twisted up to the sky. The faces of the weary soldiers were dappled with flickering firelight. “A few men from my village volunteered to join the King’s Guard. I was considering it myself,” he said, staring into the blaze. “Who knows, we may still meet again in the capital.”

“You’re on your way there now?” one of the men asked.

“I’m traveling in that direction, but taking my time about it,” he said. “I have a few things to think over first. Personal matters.”

Hal offered an encouraging smile. “I believe you’d make a worthy soldier.”

Nicholas took a bite of food, tossing an awkward glance his way. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but my interest in joining wasn’t entirely patriotic. I was looking for a bit of adventure, too.”

Hal shrugged. “Nothing new with young men your age.”

“And other than a few generalities, I don’t know much about the war between Rhiál and Maranac,” he added. “I guess that doesn’t say much for one so eager to join the King’s Guard.”

Hal understood his mixed feelings. “Many young men, when enlisting, see only a grand adventure instead of cold reality. That doesn’t mean their intentions aren’t true. I’d wager most men in this camp joined out of a desire to see other parts of Laparia, thinking they’d have a fine time. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He added a few sticks to the fire. “And some of them may yet see other lands before the end–only for what the world really is, and at its worst.”

“But why all the fighting?” Nicholas asked. “Who started the war?” Others admitted that they were unclear on the particulars, too.

“That part of the south has been a troubled region for years,” Hal said. “And though others are more educated on its history, I can fill you in on recent events.”

“Please do,” Nicholas said, anticipating a rousing tale.

“Rhiál and present day Maranac were each half of the once united kingdom of Maranac that split apart decades ago. I don’t know all the reasons why,” he said, “but the two kingdoms managed to live in peace. That is, until the events earlier this year.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“King Hamil of Maranac was assassinated, and his only child, Melinda, disappeared at the same time. Many believe she is dead. Hamil’s older brother, Drogin, who had been passed over for the throne when his father died, is now king. He resented not ascending to the throne before his younger brother, so he waged war against Rhiál, determined to reunite the two realms by force.”

“But why would Arrondale and Montavia get involved? How does that war affect our two kingdoms?”

Hal stood, glancing at the stars now out in their full brilliance. “Rhiál has requested help in its fight, not being strong enough to withstand Maranac alone,” he explained. “More importantly, word is out that King Drogin blames agents from Rhiál, in league with Arrondale, for the assassination of his brother. He wants revenge.”