Two Kings For Toltan by R. K. Olson
Author’s Note: The Spearslayer Sect was annihilated at the Battle of the Golga River by the treachery of the Three Nation Alliance. A thousand years of knowledge and the perfection of the warrior arts lost in a single afternoon. A handful survived to join the Spearslayer diaspora. Here is one SpearSlayer’s story.
Two Kings For Toltan by R. K. Olson
The lean Thessite cursed between clenched teeth.
Judging that full darkness was still an hour away, he had avoided the crofts and cultivated fields dotting the mountain valley, moving like a wraith from woodlot to woodlot. He had reached the pine forest unseen, only to run into beggars along a little-used path.
The forest path was a silvery scar on the ground slicing through thick stands of pine trees. The surrounding black mountaintops melted into the darkening sky. A cool wind swept down off the somber mountains, carrying with it the unholy whisperings of long-forgotten Gods of a long-forgotten race that was old when the mountains were young.
The moon struggled to rise casting shadows over the Thessite’s smooth, angular face. It was the color of burnished leather and creased with lines of experience. He carried a long staff and wrapped himself in a gray cloak to ward off the chill of a frosty Toltan evening.
He had traveled at night rather than let people speculate why a Thessite was in Toltan. The two city-states were on opposite sides of the continent from each other. His appearance would raise questions that could lead to his recognition as a Spearslayer with a bounty on his head.
The largest of the three roughly cloaked beggars stood astride the narrow path, blocking it with his body. He twirled a long staff in his hands.
The Thessite’s sharp dark eyes spotted the robust bodies covered in beggar rags. The beggars had pulled their cowls forward to hide their faces.
He pulled a copper coin out of his leather jerkin and flipped it to the first beggar, who snatched it out of the air like he was catching a fly.
“May Kol bless you and your children,” said the largest beggar in the guttural sounds of the Toltan language. “However, one copper won’t feed us three beggars. What say you to a competition? We both have staffs. Let me see if I’m the better man. If I lose, you keep your copper. If I win, you buy the three of us ale.”
“I wish to do you no harm nor receive any. Will a few more copper coins find a home with you?”
“You have no choice but to fight or go back the way you came, like a whipped cur.”
The Thessite tried to avoided confrontations. Here, he had little choice but to accept if he wanted to continue on his way. He relaxed his broad shoulders, dropped his cloak, and set his hips.
The tall beggar rolled back ragged sleeves, revealing thickly corded forearms. He was taller than the Thessite and more heavily muscled.
“First one to get tapped twice loses,” said the beggar. His face was in shadow, but the Thessite could see the white teeth of a grin emerge under the cowl.
“You’ve done this before,” said the Thessite with a thin smile. He adjusted his leather jerkin over his linen shirt and assumed the standard Spearslayer attack ready position with left foot forward, right foot back and left hand leading the right on the oak staff.
“Once or twice. What’s your name? I like to know the name of the man I’m going to crack up the side of the skull,” replied the beggar, beginning to circle with his staff in the attack position.
“Dar.”
The beggar flashed forward and delivered a sudden downward strike with his hardwood staff. Dar parried the blow and before the beggar could cover up, he stepped in and landed a blow to the rib cage.
“One,” said Dar.
He circled away, watching the large beggar in the shadowy moonlight.
“Enough! Let’s be on our way,” pleaded the smallest beggar.
“No, Hegat. I started this and if I must take my lumps, so be it,” laughed the staff-wielding beggar.
The beggar shifted his grip on the staff to take an overhead defensive position.
Dar feinted a forward strike and reversed the staff, smashing the butt end into the beggar’s feet. The beggar grunted and stumbled to the ground.
“Two,” said Dar. “Keep the coin.”
The beggar was breathing hard and sitting on the ground laughing at himself.
“Here I thought myself the best in Toltan and you bested me easily. There is a tavern less than a mile from here. I will buy you some ale.
The other two beggars crowded behind the taller beggar. Dar observed each had a hand near a hip as if a dagger lay hidden under the rags.
The stars seemed to pop out of nowhere across a black, velvety sky, pushing the early evening gloom aside as the four men ambled down the narrow path, their sides brushed by pine boughs. The Thessite moved well, with hips thrust forward and shoulders back. He moved like a panther.
“For a beggar, you are quite stout,” said Dar.
“And you, my friend, wield a skilled stick. There are few people who can do what you did to me,” answered the tall beggar in a voice that Dar sensed was used to command. “Who are you?”
“Best to keep questions to ourselves.”
“Yes! Indeed!” laughed the tall beggar. “On to the tavern! I can smell the roast meat from here!”
The two other beggars walked behind, saying nothing. Hands near their right hips.
& & &
The Toltan throne cradled the slim, compact form of Prince Yorhict. Candlelight flickered and danced across his youthful face. He threw a leg over the armrest. The foot never stopped jiggling. The Toltan King’s gold crown hung on a back post of the simple, wooden throne. A craftsman carved the post to look like a shaft of wheat — Toltan’s royal symbol.
The youth wore a purple fur collared robe over a simple brown tunic, leggings and boots against the night’s pinching cold seeping through the castle walls. Two roaring fireplaces battled against the creeping cold.
He lifted his sallow face and watched a woman pull away from the shadows in the throne room. He ran both his hands through lank, black hair.
“Tell me what you see? Where is my brother’s caravan now? Consult the Ruby Stone.”
The women with black hair that reached to her slim hips raised her dark blue eyes to the prince. In the wavering candlelight, her blue skin had a dull sheen. She wore a flowing robe of a gossamer like fabric that shimmered a bluish green. She was naked under the robe that did little to hide her supple body. A belt made of the same shimmering fabric loosely held the robe together. Gold bracelets and anklets tinkled quietly when she moved. She was a blue seer, highly prized for their accuracy.
“At the same price, My King?” she said in a soft voice melodious in tone but edged with cruelty.
“Yes. Of course. Ten talents of gold. I must know where he is now.”
The blue seer bowed slightly and reached into her robe and pulled out a reddish stone cupped in her smooth, cool hand. She flung her head back, whipping her long raven tresses about and writhed as if in ecstasy.
The stone pulsated and turned the color of blood. Holding the stone with head tossed back and eyes wide and staring at the shadows on the throne room ceiling, she said, “Your older brother is no longer with his caravan. He crossed the mountains and is in Toltan. He seeks to unite all against you and take his place as heir to the throne.”
“Already back home from the trade mission to Kala?” whispered Yorhict. “And he knows our father, the King is dead, and I usurped the throne? I can wait no longer. I must send soldiers to kill him. We could blame bandits.”
The Ruby Stone stopped pulsating like a living thing and the seer slipped it back into her robe.
The slim youth shook off his regal robe and leaped up from the chair. He paced back and forth in front of the throne, frowning. The blue seer watched the anxious young prince with her mocking eyes veiled under half-closed lids.
“Strike first before the people rise. To be a king; you must act like a king,” said the seer.
Yorhict stopped pacing and rubbed his smooth chin, lost in thought. “It is time for me to be a king,” he whispered.
& & &
The tavern was long and low and constructed of enormous logs. Moss covered the roof and vines crawled up its sides. In the darkness, it took on the shape of a large, hunched animal.
Light spilled out of the open front door. Dar heard laughter and rough singing. Noses twitched from whiffs of roasting meat.
The bald tavern owner was at the door hustling a drunk patron home.
He spied the beggars and yawned. “Out back, I’ll pull together some dinner for you in a couple of minutes.”
“We have money to spend, and I owe my new friend some of your finest ale.” said the tall beggar, his face lost in the shadows of his cowl.
“If you have money to spend, I have food and drink to buy!”
The two quiet beggars stepped through the door first. They slid into position on either side of the doorway. Dar and the tall beggar followed the tavern owner inside. The rich scent of a venison haunch being turned over a fire by a young curly brown-haired young girl filled the room crowded with country folk.
The warm tavern air felt good to Dar after being outside and on the move for the last few days. His stomach rumbled.
Dar scanned the room with its hearth and kitchen on one end. Much of the windowless tavern was filled with long tables and benches. The floor was sticky with ale and the air thick with tobacco smoke.
He caught snatches of conversations punctuated by clattering plates, tankards slammed on scarred wooden tables and good-natured laughter.
Then, abruptly, the tavern noise stopped.
The tall beggar had pulled back his cowl revealing a strong, pleasant face with a crooked smile and shrewd eyes that were quick to laugh.
Benches and chairs scrapped across the wooden floor as each tavern goer got down on one knee.
The young girl turning the meat pointed and shouted, “Prince Elris is back!”
The Prince laughed. “Everyone get up. No bowing on my account. Now, ale for my formidable friend and space at a table to sit and eat.”
Bowls of steaming venison stew and tankards of sharp-tasting ale appeared from the kitchen. The young girl and tavern owner scurried to serve. Patrons shuffled forward to welcome Elris home and murmur condolences on the death of his father.
They removed the venison from the fire and sliced it. Dar chewed on a moist slice of meat and washed it down with ale.
The girl plunked a loaf of bread down on the table in front of Dar and Elris as the last piece to the meal.
Looking up at the Prince she said, “I’m sorry about your father.”
“Yes, My Lord, please accept our condolences,” added the tavern owner, wiping his hands on his apron.
“The King was a great man. I will miss both my father and my King.” He paused and beckoned for the bald tavern owner to sit at the table. “What news do you have of my brother, Prince Yorhict? Is what I heard true?”
“I’m afraid so,” said the tavern owner, stammering a bit. “He has crowned himself King.”
“Hegat,” said Elris, turning to the smallest beggar. “Leaving the caravan early disguised as beggars might have saved our lives. He surely won’t be welcoming me home.”
With his cowl down, Hegat’s blonde hair cascaded over his shoulders. He grunted in response as he swallowed a hunk of juicy venison.
Turning back to the tavern owner, Elris asked, “What say the people of Toltan?”
“The people are with you! Your banner will rally the people to your cause. They will fight!”
“Spies tell me the army supports my brother. Plows and rakes against swords and arrows is not something I would subject my people to,” said Elris staring into his empty tankard.
The tavern owner said, “My Lord, his support is divided. Talk with those in the room. They will say the same. He consults with a blue seer before he makes a move.”
“Then he knows I’ve returned,” whispered Elris.
& & &
Prince Elris’s army headquarters was a one-room log cabin standing sentry in the clear sunshine on a mountain slope carpeted in green. A damp freshness floated in the air with the smell of trees and flowers. For two days, the hills and paths pulsated with people tramping to this fertile valley in the Toltan mountains to support the rightful Toltan King.
Wood smoke scented the air as stout farmers, merchants, tradesmen and shepherds carrying hoes, axes and other makeshift weapons straggled into the sprawling camp beneath the purple snow-capped Toltan Mountains
Few marching to Elris’s banner carried swords or spears. What they lacked in equipment they more than made up for in appetite.
Elris acted fast before the assembled horde ate everything in sight. He whirled from one task to the next, greeting new arrivals, planning strategy, and doling out whatever food and supplies he could scrounge. His laughter was infectious, and he seemed to be everywhere at once.
Dar leaned against a tree, rolling a spear Elris gave him back-and-forth in his hands. He watched the young families that arrived. They reminded him of his own family and of his not knowing if his wife and children were alive, living as slaves, or dead.
The annihilation of the Spearslayer Sect on the banks of the River Golga ten years ago and his capture played itself out in his mind again. Thousands slaughtered and centuries of knowledge destroyed by the treachery of the Three Nation Alliance. Only the protection extended by an Oscean commander saved his life. The commander’s death removed the protection. Spearslayers were outlawed and Dar had a price on his head.
He was anxious to travel on to Chenia and continue his search for his wife and children. This was a fight between Toltans.
Cries and shouts erupted from the press of people swarming around the little cabin, breaking into Dar’s thoughts.
Dar spotted three horsemen in a stand of pine trees at the edge of the encampment wearing the leather armor of the Toltan army. As one, the people panicked, grabbed whatever they could and ran from the three horsemen.
Dar pulled the reins free from a white farm horse tied to the back of a nearby wagon. He vaulted onto the wooden saddle with his spear, raked the horse’s flanks with his sandals and galloped the clumsy animal toward the three horsemen.
The horsemen had planted stakes in the ground, each with a severed head dripping blood. He raced past the gruesome display as one horseman turned and fired a crossbow bolt. The bolt whizz through the air sounding like an angry wasp.
The horseman cranked his crossbow to load another bolt. Dar sped forward to close the gap before the crossbowman could fire again. Holding the reins in his left hand, Dar aimed a one-handed full spear thrust at the crossbowman’s chest. The crossbowmen’s leather armor deflected the spear tip downward, puncturing his thigh. He dropped his crossbow and grabbed his leg to stop the spouting blood from a severed artery.
Dar’s horse stumbled, pitching him to the ground with a jarring thud. Stunned, he got to his feet as a second horseman with a raised sword bore down on him.
He let his Spearslayer training take over as the calvary officer was standing in the stirrups to get maximum leverage for a downward saber cut with his right hand. The horse, slick with sweat and flecks of foam on its lips, charged Dar.
At the last moment, Dar stepped to his right, swinging his spear like an ax and smashed the horse’s mouth. He rolled away from rearing hooves to the opposite side of the horse from the sword.
The horse screamed and fell to its knees, sending the helmeted swordsman sailing over the animal’s head. He landed without his sword or helmet. He was groggy and on his back resting on his elbows when Hegat rode up, dismounted, and put a knife to the soldier’s throat, forcing surrender.
“This one will tell us an interesting story,” said Hegat. He pulled the horseman to his feet and pushed him toward the encampment.
Dar dusted himself off and checked his spear for any splitting. The crossbowman’s horse was being led back to the encampment. His body was stripped of weapons, helmet and armor and left in a pool of blood. The white horse cropped at grass; the horse with the smashed mouth had run off. They buried the severed heads belonging to local farmers supporting Elris.
From the horseman they learned that Yorhict’s army was on the move and heading here in march column hoping to force an engagement. The soldier said that Yorhict had placed a bounty of fifty talents of gold on Elris’s head.
Elris looked up at Dar as he entered the little cabin serving as headquarters for his army. The Prince waved the other men out of the room. They shut the door, darkening the one-room cabin. It was close and stuffy in the room.
& & &
“The way you handled a staff was the first hint I had about you being a Spearslayer. Then how you handled the horsemen . . . Is it true?” asked Elris.
“Yes. I am a Spearslayer. I survived the battle of Golga River and now seek to find my family.”
“You have my complete protection while in Toltan. We care little for the doings of the Three Nation Alliance.” Elris stood up from the table and stretched his large frame. “What do you plan to do now?”
“I will continue my search. This is not my fight.”
The Prince sat down again and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table separating the two men.
“My brother uses a seer. She can see things in the present,” he paused, adding, “Help me take back my throne and I’ll see that this seer shows you where your family is living–or if they are dead.”
Dar didn’t respond for a long time then he breathed out audibly and said, “The seer revealed the location of your army to your brother. He will march troops here and attack. We can use her own sorcery against your brother.”
“Aye,” replied Elris. “I see your point. Pull my men back into the mountains where they would have the advantage of surprise attacks and hit-and-run raids. Spies say he is massing most of the army to march against us”
“So, we send a small group to infiltrate the castle and capture it. The few soldiers still patrolling the castle walls will side with you once they see you,” said the Spearslayer.
Elris jumped to his feet and swung open the cabin door. “Hegat, round up the troops and move out immediately. Head to the mountains and keep them moving.”
& & &
Prince Yorhict fidgeted in front of the huge Kalan warrior. The warrior towered over the slim King even though the throne was on a raised dais. Yorhict pulled his purple cloak tightly around his shoulders and sat up straighter.
The Kalan was at least six feet five inches tall with broad shoulders. His sleeveless tunic exposed massive arms. He displayed the Tattoos of Obedience on his powerful right forearm, signifying his complete fealty to the Sultan of Kala and wore his jet-black hair braided down his back in the style of a Kalan warrior. His face was big-boned and rugged, with a hooked nose. He had a three-foot scimitar at his waist, which was edged on one side and widened near the tip, ending with a sharpened point.
“You wished to see me,” said Yorhict, affecting a haughty tone.
“Yes, My Lord. My name is Sinie Javerts. I have the honor of fulfilling a task for the Sultan of Kala,” he smiled, with strong white teeth emerging from his bushy black beard. “I seek the head of a Spearslayer and request your assistance.”
Yorhict ignored Javerts’ question.
“Do you have news of my brother? Has he truly returned from the trade mission to Kala?”
“Alas, I have no news about your brother. My duty to the Sultan is to find a Spearslayer called Dar,” said Javerts, bowing slightly. “May I avail myself of your soldiers to aid in my search?”
“My army is in the field in force.”
“I have heard. I would only require a small squad of horsemen with knowledge of the area for my task.”
“It is not possible. I’ve stripped all the troops I can, leaving a skeleton force to guard the castle. I have nothing to spare. We Toltans care nothing for proclamations from the Three Nation Alliance or Spearslayers.”
A shade crossed the tall Kalan’s face, but he quickly replaced the look with a genial smile and a slight bow.
Yorhict waved the Kalan warrior away out of the throne room.
& & &
Five men dashed in silence from shadow to shadow in the thick night and dodged the soldiers heading to attack Elris’s army in the mountains. The air was heavy with moisture that dampened the men’s dark tunics. Dar’s dark face was wreathed in shadows and the eyes were all but invisible.
The men passed through the city walls undetected using a secret smuggler’s passageway shared with Elris by a merchant.
The five men stepped out from the secret passage into the city’s Fish and Fowl Market. The sharp sounds of clay plates and iron pots drifted through the night air as much of Toltan was finishing dinner.
A slight breeze carried a whiff of rotting fish and the tang of blood to the men’s noses. Tables with blood grooves and wooden boxes were scattered in the market area. Butcher aprons and rubber gloves were piled on a table. Lumber, pipe, paint, and wire were stacked next to a building under construction.
Elris paused and stared up at the castle that seemed to melt into the dark night sky.
“Enough! By Kol! I am King. Kings do not scurry like rats from shadow to shadow. Come. Follow me.”
Elris strode to the middle of the street and marched toward the castle.
The clouds thinned and raced across the face of the moon, scattering silvery moonlight on the growing number of after dinner strollers in Toltan. Elris greeted each of his kneeling citizens.
News of his arrival outstripped his advance so that a thick throng of people clogged the streets and slowed Elris’s progress to a crawl.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “All hail King Elris!” The crowd took up the cry and it echoed off the houses and buildings overhanging the street.
Elris tossed aside his beggar’s robes, revealing a white tunic and leggings with the stylized wheat shaft, the symbol of Toltan, emblazoned on his chest.
“To the castle!” yelled the swelling crowd. The crowd moved in mass like an undulating animal up the hill where the castle sat dark, quiet, and brooding.
& & &
“He’s here? How?” stammered Yorhict. He paced at the foot of the Toltan throne in front of the seer, holding the ruby stone. Her head was thrown back, her body was writhing with dark blue eyes staring up at nothing.
“Your brother is here with the Spearslayer to take your kingdom,” said the blue seer with a voice as sweet as a harp but devoid of emotion.
“It is too late to call back my soldiers,” he moaned. Beads of perspiration glistened on his sallow face. “What can I do?
“My Lord, the people are supporting Elris and leading him to the castle. To this very room.”
The young prince threw off his purple cloak and wearily sat on the throne with his head in his hands. After a minute, he lifted his narrow face and asked, “Can your magic help me?”
She had put away the stone and was standing before him with her blue skin glistening and her full bosom rising and falling with each breath.
“My Lord, there is danger in magic and its use.”
“Damn danger and the bastard sons of Kol! What can you do?”
“The Ruby Stone can give you powers to fight back, but at a cost,” said the raven-haired seer. “The user’s life force powers the magic. Use too much magic and one’s life force is sucked dry onto death.”
“I will not lose my kingdom.”
The blue seer smiled crookedly and pulled the Ruby Stone out of her robe. It glowed a deep red.
& & &
“Power! A King’s power!” said Yorhict, flexing his hands into fists. There appeared to be a soft, animated glow haloing each hand.
The seer looked at the small man with veiled violet eyes that glowed like peat fire embers. “The Ruby Stone has given you the power to shoot fireballs to smite your enemy.” She slipped the stone back inside her robe, adding, “Remember that your life force fuels this power. Use it wisely.”
She bowed and whisked herself away, leaving the prince grinning and staring at his hands.
& & &
The two guards at the Toltan King’s castle gate were confused.
They were ordered to let no one in, but Prince Elris was outside with hundreds of people demanding entry. It was with a sigh of relief when Prince Yorhict arrived at the gate and ordered it opened.
Standing alone in the castle courtyard, Yorhict greeted the surging crowd, packed shoulder-to-shoulder. He raised his right hand and made a spear throwing motion toward the crowd.
A sizzling fireball flew from his hand and erupted in the crowd, reducing whomever it hit to ash. People’s ears rang from the fireball’s explosion. The panicked crowd trampled young and old into the cobblestoned street.
“Where are you, brother?” laughed Yorhict, as the smell of charred flesh scorched nostrils.
Dar reeled from the heat and concussive force of the fireballs. He grabbed Elris and pulled him out of the rush of screaming people and down an alley to the Fish and Fowl Market.
Catching his breath, Elris said, “He’s mad!”
Dar leaned his spear against the pile of construction materials. He picked up a spear-length steel pipe from the pile and wrapped a long length of wire around one end, letting it drag on the ground. He donned a rubber apron from the fishmonger’s table and grabbed rubber gloves.
Dar turned and trotted back, carrying the pipe like a spear. Yorhict was standing in the empty square in front of the castle gate in the moonlight. He spotted Dar jogging toward him.
“Are you the Spearslayer?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Dar stopping a spear’s throw away. He stuck the wire into the ground between two cobblestones and pointed one end of the pipe at Yorhict, gripping it with the rubber gloves.
“Then you must die!” Yorhict flung his right arm at Dar, emitting a screaming fireball.
Dar caught the fireball with the end of his pipe, feeling the jolt and the pipe buck. The metal pipe absorbed the fireball’s electrical current, allowing it to travel the length of the pipe before being harmlessly grounded by the wire into the earth.
Frustrated, Yorhict fired three fireballs in quick succession only to have Dar’s catch each with the pipe and render them harmless. Dar’s hands were becoming hot through the rubber gloves.
Yorhict screamed; his narrow face turned red with rage. He flung his left arm forward and nothing came out. Dizzy, he sat down.
Yorhict passed his hand across his brow. His eyes widened in surprise at his hand’s wrinkles and age spots. His clothes seem to have gotten larger and hung off his bony frame.
He tried to speak, but his voice was a dry rustle deep in his throat. The crown tumbled off his balding head to the ground. Yorhict crumpled next to the crown and died an old man, his life force used up and extinguished.
Dar relaxed from his crouched position and examined the body. Yorhict had aged a century and shriveled up and died in mere moments.
The square was empty and quiet except for the sound of a single horse’s hooves clicking across the cobblestones.
Dar could see a large man walking a horse out of the shadows and into the moonlit square. The man was so large it looked like he was riding a dog. Dar shucked his apron and gloves. He gripped the pipe in the attack-ready position.
“Hello Dar,” smiled the big Kalan. “You eluded me once. Today, we’ll end this chase and I will fulfill my obedience to the Sultan of Kala.”
“Your master seeks the head of a Spearslayer?”
“Yes. It is no concern to me. My duty is to obey. Your death will be merciful.
Javerts threw a powerful leg over the horse’s head and slid to the ground, pulling out his scimitar in the same motion. He moved with the smooth grace of a wildcat for such a large man.
Dar gave a low growl and darted forward, thrusting at Javerts’s barrel chest. Javerts parried the thrust and rushed Dar to get inside the piece of pipe. Dar saw it coming and danced backwards, feinted a strike to the head and raked the Kalan’s shins, knocking Javerts down. Javerts rolled backwards, sprang to his feet and slashed left and right, making his sword sing.
Dar stumbled on the cobblestones and the big Kalan grabbed the pipe with his free hand and yanked it forward, kneeing Dar in the groin. Bent over and gasping, Dar pulled out his dagger and wheeled. The Kalan grunted and set his feet shoulder width apart for a finishing scimitar cut aimed at taking Dar’s head.
“Hold!! By order of the King! Hold or we’ll cut you down where you stand!”
A dozen men-at-arms and a handful of archers clustered around the two combatants, ending the fight.
Elris smiled broadly and walked into the circle of men. “What have we here? A Kalan warrior and Dar? What causes this truculent behavior?” he laughed.
Javerts bowed deeply and slowly, his Tattoos of Obedience visible on his right forearm. “Dar is a Spearslayer, and the Sultan ordered me to return with his head to Kala.”
“Why this Spearslayer’s head?” queried Elris.
“My Lord, mine is not to question the Sultan. Mine is to obey,” answered the large Kalan.
“Yes, I understand the Kalan warrior traditions. It seems the Sultan is currying favor with the Three Nation Alliance by collecting Spearslayer heads. What is your name?”
“Sinie Javerts,” replied the Kalan warrior, bowing again.
“Warrior Javerts, Toltan custom requires that I offer the same hospitality as I received in Kala. So, come along to the castle where I will provide accommodations. Tomorrow, or the next day, there will be a dinner in your honor.”
Javerts felt a sword prick in his back and swallowed. “I would be most honored.”
“Wonderful!” said Elris, clapping his hands together. “My men will escort you to a comfortable room in the castle.”
Six of the men-at-arms formed a rough circle around the fierce, bearded Kalan. Javerts gave Dar a thin smile and nod before turning toward the castle.
Elris looked at the lean, brown-skinned man with the powerful shoulders and chuckled, “My generosity with the Kalan should give you three days head start.”
Dar sheathed his dagger. “Thank you. I’m eager to speak with the blue seer about my family’s whereabouts.”
“She awaits you in the throne room,” said Elris. “Hegat will take you there and then to the foothills where a guide will bring you over the mountains using ways known only to the mountain people.”
Elris made a slight nod and whirled to stride off to the castle as the rising light of dawn bathed the castle walls in a soft red light.
& & &
Hegat was small, bandy-legged, and taciturn. He wasted little time. He marched Dar into the rustic throne room and greeted the blue-skinned seer.
She was sitting on a bench along the wall brushing her long black hair. When she stood, her gold anklets tinkled and her blueish green robe shimmered.
“Welcome, Spearslayer,” she said in her melodious voice. “You seek family.”
With that statement, she reached into the sleeve of her robe and pulled out the Ruby Stone. She extended her hand, holding the stone toward Dar. The stone pulsated and glowed a blood red. The seer threw her head back, sending her long hair flying. Her skin took on a darker cast of blue. Her bosom heaved and supple body writhed.
“The warlord in Chenia has what you seek, Spearslayer.”
“Is my family alive? Warlord? What do you mean?” asked Dar.
The stone stopped pulsating like a living thing in the seer’s small, thin hand. She leveled her dark blue eyes at Dar that seemed to bore into his skull.
“What one seeks and what one finds are different things,” said the seer. “Go now, Spearslayer, and don’t look to the past. That is all.”
Hegat cleared his throat and motioned for Dar to follow him. The blue-skinned seer pulled her robe tightly around narrow shoulders and sat back down on the bench to brush her hair.
& & &
Later, miles from the castle at a crossroads, a mountaineer addressed Hegat in the guttural Toltan language. Then he gestured to Dar to follow him. Hegat wheeled his mount and grabbed the reins of Dar’s horse, kicking up dust back to the castle.
Dar strode forward toward the mountains.
* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright R. K. Olson 2024
