Let
me start off by introducing myself. My name is Paisley Pureton
McGregor III. My friends call me Mac.
For the last thirty-five years, it has been my job to take care
of Castle Broughcut. My father - and his father before him - and
for as far back as anyone can remember - a McGregor has tended
to the needs of this mighty fortress. I know every passage within
its walls. Every out-of-the-way nook and cranny. Every door's
sound and every lamp's flicker.
I have seen much, some good - but most bad. I am invisible to
the inhabitants of the Castle, as it should be. Because of this,
I am the witness to many things. This is my story:
I am writing this for the sake of posterity. In light of recent
events concerning the King and his Sons, I may be the only one
to objectively record this change. I use the word 'change' because
IT is in the air. IT is all that is talked about around the tables
and warm fires throughout the Kingdom.
The King is ill, and has been for a long time now. To make matters
worse, there is a split within the Kingdom over who our next ruler
should be.
Most are in support of the eldest son, Prince Antony - Ruler and
Sovereign of The Painted Forest, because of his birthright and
wisdom.
Others are joining in the support of the middle son, Prince Cire
- Ruler and Sovereign of The Mine Field, because of his strength.
A growing number in the Kingdom embrace the direction championed
by the King's youngest son, Prince Toddanson - Ruler and Sovereign
of Splat City, because of his vision.
Each brother believes he is best qualified to rule the Broughcut
Kingdom, and its population, and occupy Castle Broughcut upon
the King's death.
I have known the three boys since their births; each so different
but each so strong in his own way.
The eldest, and heir to the throne, was born on a warm spring
afternoon. Prince Antony's entrance into the world was met by
the rejoicing of the entire Kingdom. As he grew, I watched his
mind develop into a true thinker. He viewed things differently.
Once while we attempted to remove a flywheel from a broken shaft
piece, the young prince stopped to see what we were doing. After
several unsuccessful attempts to pull the wheel from the shaft,
he asked if he might give it a try. We had all tried and knew
that this young man surely lacked the power to pull the wheel
from the steel shaft. Humoring the lad, I told him to give it
his best shot. The Prince picked up a large sledge hammer laying
on the ground beside us and moved over to the head of the shaft.
He then cranked back and with a mighty swing of the hammer struck
the top of the shaft squarely and drove it clean through the center
of the flywheel. A different way of looking at something. As he
grew to manhood, he continued to demonstrate his unique way of
thinking. He was fond of saying "Don't raise the bridge,
lower the river".
In contrast, Prince Cire was born on a hot sweltering summer night.
I will never forget the sound of his first cries. They echoed
through the old fortress for days! Kicking and screaming, that
one; always butting heads with someone or something. Starting
young, he had an obsession with explosives. The rooms I have had
to fix, the fires I have had to put out while that young boy grew!
I can count every gray hair that boy gave me; yet I have never
been able to look at him without smiling - even to this day. His
heart and soul are as large as he is bold. Two years ago, I fell
terribly ill and several of my duties had fallen behind. Prince
Cire personally saw to those tasks. He knew I would trust no other.
To see him covered in the soot and dust of the heating system
as he explained the condition of the burners and the ducts with
the same care and love that I felt for them healed me faster than
any of the medicines.
And then Prince Toddanson, the youngest of the three. He was born
on the coldest day of the coldest winter ever on record. The winds
whipped and screamed through the old stone building as he drew
his first breath. As a young man his mind grew and expanded in
all directions. He was constantly coming up with new inventions
to do a job better or new machines to save time; never happy with
the old and always in search of a more efficient way of doing
things. The death of his mother during child birth drove him as
a young teen to establish the first real efforts at modern medicine
the Kingdom had ever seen. Thanks to him, hundreds of mothers
and babies were now surviving when only a few short years ago,
they would have been lost.
Each brother possesses great courage, strength, and a sense of
rightness. Each brother has a growing band of loyal followers.
This is the problem.
To understand this dilemma, one must be able to grasp the root
of the conflict. I have been asked countless times what I thought
was the cause of this civil war that now faces us all. After listening
and watching the events unfold, I believe beyond doubt that it
is the true sense of rightness that each brother possesses.
Antony believes with all of his heart that tradition dictates
the method of doing things. The old ways, passed down by his father
and his father's father before him; the time-honored ways of maintaining
the land and all of its creatures. Prince Antony passionately
believes that for his people to prosper in the future, all answers
can be found in the past. He believes that the race of man is
becoming soft, and he fears man's dependence on technology. If
a child or his mother did not survive childbirth, as cold as it
sounds, Antony believes that there is a reason for that. Keep
the herd strong, for lack of a better term. Those that follow
him are of the same mind and heart. They flock to him in his Forest
realm, to learn the old ways of nature. To harvest her power of
healing. To never be hungry - because nature does provide. To
be in tune and at one with the natural surroundings. To fight
as the lion fights. To forage as the coyote. To survive with wits
and cunning.
Cire believes, just as strongly as his older brother, that his
way - the blend of old and new, is the answer to all that faces
the people of the Kingdom. He believes that all that is needed
to advance a civilization can be found in mother earth, but that
the key to extracting the earthly treasures is technology. Technology
will maximize the benefits of the human labor involved. Sulfurs
for healing, smelted ores for the steel and iron required for
building, and all the precious stones and minerals that, when
brought up, could buy from other countries anything that could
not be made here. Keep the old ways in place, but add slowly the
new. Let the people begin to adjust to the change. It will be
difficult enough to adjust to a new ruler, whoever that may be.
Cire's followers began to arrive slowly at first, then gold was
struck in the Mine Field. People from all over swarmed to his
realm, and to his banner.
Toddanson believes that the old ways were just that, old! He pushed
for change. Rapid change. He truly feels that the fate of the
people lacks the time needed for his older brothers' methods.
The King's subjects had been dying in masses, from such things
as dysentery and influenza. Childbirth fatalities had been at
an all time high, and that was one thing that the Kingdom could
ill afford. Visiting the quiet towns and hamlets of the people,
he witnessed the day-to-day discomfort of sickness. His innovative
ideas spread quickly. Soon scientists and great minds of the world
gathered in his city. They pondered, worked and solved many of
the problems that other areas were still faced with. In his city,
people were healthier than in any other part of the known world.
His hospitals were famous everywhere and their desire to help
anyone was legendary. But Prince Toddanson lacked the money and
power to do more, so it all stopped at his small city's borders
within his father's rule. His followers grew in numbers, to the
point that the city had to refuse anymore for fear of over-population.
Suburbs grew up outside the city, as more and more arrived from
all parts of the world to learn and see for themselves the future
vision of this young prince.
I have known these three, as I have stated, since their births.
I know how when each puts his mind to something, he will do all
within his power to achieve it. The blood of Kings runs through
their veins and each will fight for what he believes in.
This was never made more clear to me than on the day of the King's
death.
I will never forget the day of the old King's death. It started
out as a perfect spring morning, much like the morning Prince
Antony was born. The sky was a magnificent shade of blue. I filled
my lungs with the smells in the air. I soaked in the sounds of
the awakening sparrows. This rebirth was in total contrast to
the dark clouds that were gathering over the Kingdom. Alas, birth
is painful.
I had just finished breakfast when I heard it, the single toll
of the bell. Struck only once, it signaled the King's passing
from this earth. I instinctively stood to my feet and bowed my
head in silent prayer. I remembered the man, his values, his goals,
his vision and the true love he felt for his people. And I prayed
for his sons and the Kingdom.
I was immediately summoned by Prince Antony to assist in preparing
Castle Broughcut for the King's funeral and the upcoming coronation.
I carefully retrieved the funeral shrouds and flags from storage
and put about draping them in the traditional manner. Staff members
scurried about as I carried out my duties.
While I was working in the Grand Hall, Prince Toddanson entered
the room with his entourage. He was shouting out orders to a parade
of followers, each with pens and clipboards in hand. When Prince
Antony entered the hall from the other end, the group came to
an abrupt halt?all but running into each other. Antony motioned
to his brother and Toddanson understood. The two departed the
Grand Hall, leaving the young Prince's yes men behind.
As I hung the fabrics, I listened to the young group talk. They
spoke of ideas and the machines that would change the world. They
spoke of medicines and labor-saving devices?and weapons. They
talked a lot about weapons. Guns that could throw massive amounts
of fire down upon an enemy. Electronic bombs and high grade explosives.
Only moments had passed when the young Prince returned and his
face was hot red. Toddanson stormed by his men, his jaw clenched
firmly. Without speaking, he motioned for them to follow. The
look of hatred and defiance on his face was evident to all. I
don't know what took place beyond that closed door, but I know
it was the turning point.
I had just finished in the Grand Hall, when Cire called my name
from across the empty space, his booming voice echoed through
the room. Cire quickly closed the distance between us. His embrace
was that of a grizzly. After releasing me, Cire became serious.
He spoke of his father's passing and how the three brothers were
at his side. He shared with me that he had slipped his father's
sword into the old man's hands to prepare the old warrior for
his final trip. When I mentioned Prince Antony's upcoming coronation,
the look that flashed in Cire's eyes sent a chill through the
very marrow of my bones. It was brief, yet intense. The look caused
me to step back. Immediately Cire returned to the old smile and
bright eyes I had always known. This frightened me even more.
I met up with Antony in his father's chambers later in the day.
I listened, as a servant listens, while the new master of Castle
Broughcut poured out his thoughts. With clenched fists he spoke
of what he believed the best course of action would be. His thoughts
and direction scared me. Antony was willing to destroy what his
brothers had created to accomplish his goals. And this could mean
only one thing - War!
To honor tradition, the King's funeral would be at dawn on the
third day of his passing. Custom dictated that each son of the
fallen King would speak publicly at his funeral. Custom also dictated
that the deceased King's eldest son would be crowned the new King
by dusk on the day of the funeral. Due to the historical nature
and the pageantry of the event, a large crowd was expected. As
customary, crowd control in and around Castle Broughcut was already
in place.
But as the sun rose on the morning of the funeral, it became apparent
that things were not as they should be. The streets were all but
deserted and the silence was deafening. Not only were the three
brothers divided, but it was now apparent that the people of the
Kingdom were divided as well.
The banquet hall, adorned with the funeral shrouds and flags of
the Broughcut ancestors, was eerily silent. Not only were the
streets empty, but so were many of the chairs in the funeral hall?none
more obvious than the two chairs left vacant beside Prince Antony.
As I stood silently in the rear of the room, the new master of
Castle Broughcut rose from his chair. His footsteps seemed shamefully
loud as he approached the podium. Antony pulled out a piece of
paper and began to slowly and deliberately read the prepared words,
which respectfully listed the many accomplishments of his father.
It was a fitting eulogy. When Antony read the last word, he crumbled
the paper and tossed it to the floor.
He remained silent for a moment and then his voice boomed strong.
Antony vowed to his father and those assembled before him to always
be faithful to the beliefs of his heart, no matter what the cost.
I watched in amazement as Antony took control of the room. What
had started out as a funeral quickly turned into a rally. Antony
then focused his consuming anger on the two empty chairs. He condemned
his brothers for breaking tradition and began hurling vulgarity
at the two empty chairs with fury and venom. The passion was contagious
for when he finished, the room exploded in applause. Before he
could surrender the platform to the priests, his supporters mobbed
him making it clear that they supported him to their deaths.
I was working on the duct system when I overheard a conversation
that I know was not meant for my ears. As I lay on my belly, I
listened and did my best to retain the essence of the conversation
between the two men.
General Ramrod, Commander of the Armies of the Realm, was a faithful
friend to former King Anson Broughcut and was now a devoted follower
to the heir, Prince Antony. Ramrod was one of the few remaining
survivors of the old border wars and his legend had, over the
years, far outgrown the man. Throughout the Realm, Ramrod is described
as a giant, when in fact the general is of average height and
weight. You might overlook him completely, but not for his battle
hardened eyes. His eyes burn of war, its terror and its glory.
In the room with him was his best friend since childhood, Field
Marshall Jayson. He, too, was in the border wars and both had
risen up through the ranks. They had fought side-by-side on many
occasions and each owed his life to the other man.
The energetic Field Marshall Jayson was talking excitedly, his
words filled with admiration for Prince Toddanson. Jayson spoke
of how behind the times the monarchy had fallen and how it was
now time to discard the past. He stressed that the Kingdom did
not need to be some small woodland realm waiting to be taken over
by the next greedy tyrant. He all but begged the general to support
Toddanson as the future King of the Realm.
Gen. Ramrod exploded in a torrent of anger. "How can this
be?" he kept shouting to his friend. "Your loyalty must
be with King Antony. He is the one true heir. It is your sworn
duty, and it is his birthright!"
Back and forth the two men argued, each believing that his leader
was the man to follow. Each also hoping that his words could convince
his friend to change loyalty. Finally, after both had exhausted
their points, the pair fell into an eerie silence. Change, be
it good or bad, was on the way. Gen Ramrod broke the silence and
simply stated the obvious. There would be no avoiding a Civil
War.
Before the two men parted, they shared a bittersweet exchange
of old memories. Of the battles fought and won and of comrades
long gone. They did not talk of the future, just the past. I listened
to the pat of boots on the stone floor as the two parted, each
to no doubt report to his commander.
It seems the power struggle was not just between the sons of King
Anson. Jayson was only the first of the general's staff to resign
his commission and swear allegiance to King Toddanson. A third
of Antony's army would soon follow him.
With only a few hours remaining before the scheduled coronation,
Antony summoned me to the thrown room. I was not particularly
surprised because the meeting could have been for a number of
reasons. When I arrived, Antony bid me welcome and offered me
a chair. The events of the past three days showed on his weary
face. I doubt if he had slept much since his father's death.
Within minutes, Gen. Ramrod entered the room, but my attention
was immediately drawn to the dark figure who followed him. As
the stranger stepped through the doorway, a chill crossed my soul.
The lean man was dressed in dark forest garb with southern craftsmanship
evident on his slung weapons and blades. He walked confidently
across the room - standing directly in front of Antony, but staring
right at me. Sensing my discomfort, Antony assured the man that
I was to be trusted. I nodded slightly in his direction and then
slunk back into my chair in my best attempt to become invisible.
I soon learned that the visitor was known as Talon to both Antony
and Ramrod. The only Talon I had ever heard of was an assassin.
A killer for hire and a member of the 13 Black Feathers. The markings
on this man's clothes identified him as a member of the Spotted
Owl Clan located in the southernmost point of the Kingdom.
Antony offered Talon a drink, but it was declined. The future
king wasted no more time and got down to business. Before Antony
could spell out what he had in mind, Talon cleared his throat.
Interrupting the prince, Talon respectfully revealed that his
services were already under contract.
Ramrod instinctively reached for his sidearm. Talon knocked the
weapon out of the general's hands in an effortless motion. He
turned back toward Prince Antony and spoke "I am here by
your invitation and because of our past dealings. I am also here
to deliver this warning in person. Someone wants you dead and
has paid handsomely."
With less respect, Talon growled at the general "and if I
had intended to fulfill that contract today, no one could have
stopped me."
The assassin bowed his head to the prince, reached into his pocket
and then hurled an object to the floor. A bright flash immediately
followed. Once our eyes adjusted, the man known as Talon was gone.
On the floor where he had stood was his calling card, a single
feather.
The young ruler focused his gaze on the feather while Gen. Ramrod
retrieved and holstered his weapon. Ramrod began to urgently explain
to Antony that he could no longer guarantee his safety here at
Castle Broughcut. He declared that the castle was too foreign
to his men and that the secret passages and catacombs were impossible
to guard or even anticipate.
"No one, except Mac, knows them all". As the general
said those words, a look of distrust flashed through his eyes.
Antony stood up and immediately stepped between the general and
myself. He informed Ramrod that he trusted me with his life. The
general nodded slightly in my direction as a brief and subtle
attempt to apologize and immediately went back to the reasons
that the castle had to be abandoned. I stood silently and listened
as my world came crashing in. I watched Ramrod's words sway the
prince and I knew what was about to come.
Antony raised his hand to silence his old friend. He slowly turned
towards me and placed both hands upon my shoulders as he informed
me that Castle Broughcut would in fact be abandoned. Antony then
assured me that I could continue my service to the monarchy in
the forest realm.
While I prepared to vacate Castle Broughcut it occurred to me
that this night should have been the coronation of the new King
and a national celebration.
Instead, Prince Antony was using the cover of darkness to escape
to the Painted Forest and his fortress in the trees.
I spent a good deal of the night doing my final inspection of
the keep. I still could not believe that I was being forced to
shut the old girl down. Her heart was cold, her power fading,
much like myself. As I worked, I began to think that if I could
just talk to Cire maybe this impending disaster could be averted.
Clinging to this new hope, I packed some personal effects, loaded
my transport and set off for the Mine Field territory at dawn's
first light.
It was late morning by the time I crossed the border into the
realm of the middle son. Shortly after moving into Cire's territory,
I came upon a checkpoint in the road and obediently brought my
vehicle to a stop. Two armed guards, dressed in pristine battle
attire with new and expensive equipment dangling from their field
belts, approached me. I had never seen the crest on their breastplates
before, but the emblem was ominously familiar. A blue sun suspended
over a horizon. The weapons the two carried were even more impressive.
The amount of firepower that they both were sporting concerned
even a civilian such as myself.
The larger man asked me my business. I identified myself and told
the guards that I was here to see my old friend Cire. Immediately
I was ordered out of my vehicle and escorted by gunpoint to a
transport that was completely enclosed except for the driver's
seat. While one man drove, a second guard remained in the back
with me, never once taking his weapon or his eyes off me.
After a journey of a couple of hours, the vehicle came to a stop.
The sounds of a hectic camp rang out all around me. I listened
intently as the driver announced who I was here to see. Soon I
heard Cire's booming voice approach the transport and within moments
I was released. Cire apologized for my treatment, but assured
me that his men were following his direct orders. Rumors of an
assassin from the East justified such caution.
I followed Cire through a door carved into the side of a rock
wall. It was several degrees cooler as we wound our way down the
narrow passage. The restricted hall opened into a vast room. Ornate
carvings of great kings of the past were brought to life in the
stones that lined the walls. Craftsmanship and dedication to the
past combined with technology adorned the room. Cire motioned
me to a chair as I tried to absorb all that was around me. Maps
laid out on tables. Barrels of wines and oils. And the gold?my
God the gold. It was everywhere. The table setting before me was
solid gold. The goblet that he poured wine into was solid gold
and inlaid with the finest jewels I had ever seen. The room screamed
of prosperity.
Cire recognized my awe and smiled. He proudly informed me that
he had become quite wealthy on his own accord. While I ate, Cire
revealed to me how he was using his wealth as a means to an end.
His father's realm needed a leader who had the sense not to erase
the past nor murder the future, as both his brothers would surely
do. Cire admitted that initially men rallied to his wealth as
mercenaries do, but now things were different. He told me he had
assembled an army of loyal followers to his beliefs and to his
cause.
I watched as his people came and went around us and I knew he
spoke the truth. It might have been the riches that originally
drew them here, but it was the prince and his beliefs that made
them stay. It was then I knew my trip had been a waste and that
the warrior prince had no intention of letting me leave his dominion.
When Cire was called away, he ordered guards to escort me to my
room.
The room was a stone chamber with no windows and only one door.
As I stepped in the steel door slammed behind me and I heard the
tumblers throw the latch. Despair washed over me for a few moments,
then I got mad. The room was comfortable enough, but the locked
door made it a cell. I searched around for anything that would
aid in my escape and sure enough I found it. Two small pieces
of wire from a lamp on the night table. I waited until darkness
fell and then easily picked the lock to my room. I slowly opened
the door.
Glancing about, I was surprised not to see a guard. Soon I realized,
with a certain amount of embarrassment, that I wasn't perceived
by my captors as a threat or even much of a flight risk. I moved
deliberately down the stone hallway in what I hoped was the right
direction. Amidst the damp smell of earth my nose caught a whiff
of spring air and I knew I was on the right track. I had encountered
no one and hoped that my luck would hold just a little longer.
I rounded a corner and saw people running here and there in a
maelstrom of activity. I lowered my head and stuck to the shadows
as I stepped into the room. I took a stance of determination and
boldly began to walk toward the door that led to the narrow passage
out. I was almost there when I heard someone cry out. All eyes
were instantly upon me and I sprang towards the hall. I knew that
I could not out run them. I assumed that there would be more guards
waiting at the entrance, but I didn't know what else to do so
I ran as fast as I could for the exit. I saw the silhouette of
two guards fill the doorway and heard the stomping feet of my
pursuers behind me and knew it was hopeless.
I watched in amazement as the two guards in front of me suddenly
tumbled to the ground. The way was clear! I leapt over the two
stretched out bodies and bolted for the woods. As I pierced the
canopy of trees and the branches struck my face, I knew I wasn't
going to be able to run much longer. From somewhere behind me
I heard a voice telling me to head for the sound of the river.
I stumbled forward moving toward the sound of the rushing water
and listening to Cire's men closing in pursuit. As I broke out
of a thicket, the river was right in front of me - and so too
was a soldier wearing the crest of the rising blue sun. His weapon
was pointed at me and I knew I was dead. As he stared down the
barrel of his gun his eyes suddenly grew wide with horror, and
a small trickle of blood spilled from his mouth. He fell back
splashing into the water.
The last thing I remember before leaping into the rushing river
was seeing the wild looking man standing on the riverbank. The
number 13 was tattooed on his muscular forearm and the moon's
reflection glinted off the dangerous looking blade in his grasp.
Then I hit the black water with a shock. I had never been so cold.
I awoke to murmurs and muffled sounds in my ears. My head ached
with a dull throb and my limbs felt weak and numb. As I slowly
reached towards consciousness, the sounds took on more clarity
and I began to understand the tones as words.
A deep voice resonated in my ears - between the thumping - and
it spoke of close calls and how it was a miracle that I hadn't
drowned. I instinctively knew that he was speaking of me as I
slowly began to recall the events of the previous night and my
narrow escape from Cire's Realm. The shadowy figure became clear
in my mind as I flashed on my plunge into the dark cold water.
Feigning unconsciousness, I listened and took in all that I could.
I still did not know how I had arrived in this bed between clean
sheets. The conversation continued, but their voices grew distant
as they moved away from the door.
I opened my eyes and looked around to find myself in one of the
legendary hospitals of Splat City. I was amazed to find its simple
luxuries. The sanitary conditions of the facility far surpassed
even the rumors. It was apparent by the activity outside my room
that this was indeed a busy place.
I closed my eyes right before the door opened. The deep baritone
voice filled the room. He hovered over me checking my vital signs
and inspecting the equipment that was attached to me when a female
voice from the doorway asked of my condition. I could hear the
tension in my caregiver's voice as he responded that I was doing
extremely well. He assured the lady that I was going to make a
full and complete recovery and that I just needed some time to
rest.
Then the woman spoke directly to me. She told me to be ready to
meet with the King and that he would be here in a few hours. When
the doctor informed her that I probably couldn't hear her, she
just laughed softly and left the room.
I slept hard and awoke suddenly. A burly looking character, armed
to the teeth and with a look of barely-controlled rage on his
face, was in my room. He quickly checked the closet, bathroom
and under my bed. Even as he checked these spots, he kept one
eye on me. The man stepped back into the hallway and stood to
one side of the door.
Prince Toddanson entered the room with a train of men behind him.
He stopped quickly then motioned the others to wait in the hall.
I smiled slightly as he approached my bedside. He moved a chair
beside me and sat down close. His face was unreadable, his eyes
clear and determined. He seemed to have aged drastically since
the last time I had seen him. He leaned into me, his voice soft
and controlled.
He didn't ask how I was feeling and he didn't ask how I got in
the river. He asked about the warrior in blue. His eyes narrowed
as he spoke clearly and specifically of this man. He asked what
did I know of the blue crest? What had I seen? What of Cire? His
hand took my arm and squeezed it forcefully as I stared silently
into his eyes. And then I knew; this is my worth to him. Not our
past together, not our friendship. But this - the knowledge of
his enemy. His brother. This is the reason he is here right now
and this is the only reason they saved me.
I told him nothing.
He asked again, his voice raising slightly, the urgency apparent.
I remained silent, my thoughts going to his father, my old friend.
The young Prince rose from the chair. He bent down and lowered
his face to mine. In a voice of pure hatred, he spat the question
once more. What of Cire? I turned my face away and told
him only one thing - to make ready for war.
Straightening himself he said, "so be it", then turned
for the door. Before he left he paused, and without turning back
he told me he was doing this all for his father. Then he was gone.
It was later that day that the doctor informed me that I would
be leaving, the bed was needed for more serious injuries. Before
the sun set, I found myself standing on the front steps of the
hospital, wearing some clothes that were two sizes too big and
wondering how I was going to get back home. I didn't have a coin
in my pocket. Upon closer inspection, I didn't even have a pocket.
I stood there for some time before I realized I would just have
to start walking. I had reached the street and had taken only
a few steps when I heard someone shout out - "Paisley McGregor!"
I turned and looked. Standing on the corner waving me down was
my first apprentice, Buck. I had not laid eyes upon him in over
twenty years and it was like finding an oasis in the desert. Buck
had worked for me for many years at Castle Broughcut and had always
been my favorite. I could no longer recall his real name - but
I clearly remembered the situation where I christened him Bucket.
The name stuck, but eventually it got shortened to Buck.
Buck lived close to the hospital so we walked to his home. Soon
after our arrival, Buck began preparing the evening meal. I couldn't
help but notice the scarcity of his pantry. It was pretty slim
pickings in this household and, come to think of it, I hadn't
been fed at all during my stay at the hospital. I was famished.
Buck had a small pot of soup cooking on an open fire. He explained
that it was everyone's duty to tighten his belt a little for the
common cause. It took a great amount of food to fuel a great army.
As he spoke of the changes taking place in Toddanson's Realm,
Buck offered me a cup of tea and I sat and listened to him. Buck
was a firm follower of the young Prince and believed in his leader
with all his heart. He spoke highly of his Prince and the direction
the entire Kingdom needed to take.
Buck served up the watered-down soup and apologized for the staleness
of the bread. He then talked excitedly about the latest buzz around
the hospital. From a fairly reliable source, he had learned that
members of the Thirteen Black Feathers had been hired to kill
all three Princes - and that the one called Mr.Black had actually
been spotted in this very city and only a day ago!
Buck made a bed for me that night and I slept like the dead. I
awoke as he was leaving for work. He told me I was welcome to
stay for as long as I needed. He reminded me that there was still
some soup left over and that I could help myself. I thanked him,
but knew that my old friend was going to need the leftover soup
for himself.
After he left, I borrowed a better suit of clothes and his transport.
I left Splat City and never looked back.
I drove out of the city intent on joining up with Antony in the
Painted Forest. I knew it was not possible to pass through Cire's
Realm to get there. I was left with no other choice. I would have
to go the long way around and take my chances by passing through
the territory of the Vurki.
The Vurki were a nomadic race of ruthless people that lived always
on the move. Their territory consisted of the great plains. They
lived in peace for one reason only?they were so feared that no
one dared disturb them. At night, when the children were restless
in cities, towns and villages across the vast Broughcut Realm,
the mere threat of the Vurki coming-to-get-you quieted even the
most rambunctious child. They were the creatures of nightmares.
When I was a lad a small raiding party of about a hundred soldiers
ventured into the territory of the Vurki, only one survived. He
was spared and allowed to return to deliver the news of their
defeat and to warn others not to go back. He stated that the Vurki
warriors didn't even bother to fight. They sent their women and
children to deal with the invading threat. They protect their
land fervently, because that is all they have and all they need.
I will relay the events and conversations of that day to the best
of my recollection. Forgive me, but taking notes at the time was
out of the question.
I drove half a day before I crossed over into Vurki territory
and I was instantly on guard. Every tree seemed to conceal a warrior,
every shadow an enemy. I reached a sharp bend in the road and
as I rounded it before me on horseback were four of the Vurki.
All four were muscular men with weathered skin. Each wore his
hair in long braids decorated with bones and feathers. They were
shirtless and wore leather breeches over cloth pants. Their footwear
was soft leather - almost, but not quite, a slipper. They had
a ferocious look in their eyes?even their mounts looked deadly.
Over their shoulders were strapped a variety of weapons; rifles,
bows and long swords. Around their waists were pistols and what
I was guessing were ammo pouches and the always present wicked
looking dagger known as the sharak.
One of the riders kicked his mount forward and moved up beside
me. He looked down at me, the muscles of his horse twitching slightly
to shake off a fly, and in a deep voice asked me my father's name.
"McGregor" I answered.
His eyes narrowed slightly and then he barked "What brings
you to your death old man?"
I sat up as straight as I could and replied. "I only wish
to pass through to the Painted Forest."
"There is much strife in the land that you journey to."
"That is why I must get there." I pleaded.
He looked at me seeming to size me up, I was no warrior. "Leave
that machine and come with us." He ordered as he turned his
mount slowly around and extended his arm to me.
I was pulled up behind the warrior and we rode for what seemed
like an eternity. It was close to dusk when we finally were in
sight of the village. The Vurki village was made up of tent-like
structures and as we wove our way to the center, I could see and
smell the camp life all around me. Children played, men and women
cooked, all was very organized and everyone looked very healthy.
When we finally arrived at the chief's tent, I was amazed at its
size. My escort took me to the door where he had quick words with
the guard (who seemed pretty annoyed at me for some reason) and
we were motioned to enter. The smell of meat roasting and breads
baking wafted over me. All around was activity, people serving
food, drinks, dancing, it was amazing the sights and sounds. My
senses seemed on overdrive as I was led to a pile of bright red
cushions and told to sit and wait.
My escort then disappeared behind a tapestry and left me alone.
As I sat I was offered food and drink, all of which I declined.
I could not help but feel that I was being fattened up as the
main course. After a few moments, my escort returned and led me
behind the tapestry. Sitting on a large white fur covered cushion
was an older man. I was certain that this man was my senior, but
the obvious power in his arms and the bright light in his eyes
hid his age.
"Sit McGregor." He ordered as I approached.
I sat across from him on the bare ground.
"Are you the McGregor of Castle Broughcut?" He asked
as he reached for a leg of turkey.
"Yes," I replied, stunned that he would know that.
"I know your clan. Are you hungry?"
I sat a little straighter. "No thank you, sir."
"I am told that you seek passage. Is this true?"
I simply nodded yes to the chief.
"There is trouble in your realm, isn't there McGregor?"
He asked as he took a big bite from the steaming leg.
"Yes sir, as I said to your guard, that is why I need to
get back."
"You have no idea the trouble those three are in." This
was a statement of fact, spoken as the truth.
"Sir?"
"Many years ago men from Castle Broughcut arrived armed with
rumors of invaders. They were to come from a far western region
and the King was afraid. He sent his ambassador to talk treaties,
to guaranty their safety from the west. The Vurki bargain with
no one. To invade our territory means death. Period. We informed
the young ambassador that we would make no such deals with him
- or anyone - concerning the crossing of our land. And if his
enemy from the west were to come, they would have to come through
us, and we would not allow that. But our word was not good enough
and he insisted on a contract. We allowed them to live and sent
them back to Broughcut without a contract." The chief took
another large bite from the leg and washed it down with wine.
"Broughcut's men happened upon a tent that had broken off
from the main encampment because the female warrior was about
to give birth. A child of the plains is a precious item, McGregor,
and great pains are taken to ensure its safe entrance into this
world. The father was doing his best to tend to the two small
boys underfoot and to assist his wife in any way he could when
he noticed the party arriving. His weapons were not at hand, only
the sharak in his belt. When guns were drawn, the warrior dove
at the men and fought as only a Vurki can fight. He used his teeth,
his hands, his feet and his blade. He screamed his war cry as
he tore into the mass of men. Four fell to the ground before they
could even react," the chief took another large bite from
the leg and gulped down more wine.
"The first shot fired killed the youngest boy, who had just
buried his sharak into the belly of one of the invaders. The father
went into a frenzy and fought like a mad animal, only to watch
his first born son die as well. A third shot rang out and the
warrior fell. His last memory was seeing his pregnant wife running
from their tent to his aid, only to fall with a blast to the chest."
He took another bite and continued as he chewed, "We found
the camp two days later. The warrior had been left for dead and
was nearly there. We took him with us and over many months he
recovered - and when he recovered enough to travel, he set out
for the Citadel of the Assassins. Do you know what the Cambara
is, McGregor?"
I sat in stone silence and shook my head no.
"The Cambara is an oath, a vow to the gods, a solemn promise
to accomplish a task or deed in one's time on this earth - or
suffer eternal torture and damnation. It is a very serious thing
among my people, never to be taken lightly. This man, this father,
this husband, this warrior and assassin has taken the Cambara,
McGregor, and he has vowed to destroy the Broughcut line. You
see, the other three assassins are under contract. But the fourth
assassin from the west has his own motivation."
He took a final bite from the leg and tossed the bone over his
shoulder where it was instantly set upon by a pair of wolf hounds.
"What is the warrior's name?" I asked, more quietly
than I had intended.
The chief paused in his feasting for the first time and lowered
his voice to a whisper. "To speak his name means death, McGregor,
and you're already pushing things as it is."
I was then informed that his people would not participate in the
upcoming conflict, unless provoked. "Let them all die,"
was the chief's last words on the subject.
I awaited my fate for several hours when it was finally decided
that I would be allowed to return to my transport. I was escorted
through their territory and abandoned at their border. After a
grueling night's drive, I at last arrived in the Painted Forest,
and just in time to see the sun rise above the trees. I pulled
over and was asleep before the engine cooled.
I awoke to the sounds of the forest. I inhaled deeply the smells
which acted as a revitalizing tonic. I was very hungry, but well
rested and ready to continue my journey. I climbed out of the
transport and stretched long and hard. I rubbed the sleep from
my eyes and moved over to a large oak tree to relieve myself.
When I climbed back in the transport, his voice almost gave me
a heart attack. Sitting in the passenger seat dressed in the woodland
garb of browns and greens was a forest dweller. He quickly apologized
for surprising me, but began to rapidly explain that in all the
years he had been patrolling this border he had never seen ANYONE
enter the Painted Forest from the west. He said that he had seen
many leave, but none ever returned. I sat startled at his sudden
appearance and was speechless for a few moments. I believe the
young man asked my name two or three times before I finally shook
my head to clear it and answered him.
"McGregor of Castle Broughcut," I stammered.
The woodsman did not look particularly threatening, but I could
not help noticing the array of weapons on his belt. He was actually
smiling brightly and seemed genuinely amazed at my journey. As
soon as I said my name his face became even brighter.
He introduced himself as Rayneer, Captain of the Border Guard.
"King Antony has been waiting for you for a day now. All
border guards have a standing order to immediately bring Mac of
Castle Broughcut to the King."
Rayneer then asked if it might be better for him to drive. I thought,
under the circumstance, why not be chauffeured.
We drove a couple of hours when my escort asked if I was hungry.
It had been awhile since I had eaten and I told him I was famished.
The woodsman pulled the vehicle over to the side of the road and
told me to stay put. He emphasized to me that as long as I stayed
in the transport I would be safe. I looked at him in a very puzzled
manner. I had not seen anything threatening all day. In fact,
I had not even seen another living soul.
Rayneer smiled that bright smile of his and lowered his voice
unexpectedly, "We have been shadowed since we began our ride
by the unit under my command - 20 experienced warriors. The transport
has never been out of their sight, and they have orders to shoot
you if you step foot out of this vehicle. The other problem is,
we are being followed - and not by a forest dweller. My men have
not been able to get a good look at him, but we know he is there.
He remains a mystery to us, but one thing I am sure. He has been
tailing you, McGregor, and now he tails us."
Rayneer smiled at me reassuringly, retrieved his bow from the
back seat then disappeared into the thick woods. It was very eerie
as I sat knowing so many eyes were on me and wondering the identity
of the mystery tracker.
In what was a very short time, Rayneer materialized adjacent the
passenger side of the transport - once again startling me. I couldn't
help but shout at the young man this time! I scolded him for scaring
me out of years I could ill afford to lose! He smiled that smile
and shook his head as he handed me a kerchief full of nuts and
wild berries. I continued to scold him as I stuffed the delicious
fruit in my mouth. Rayneer kept shaking his head from side-to-side
as he passed in front of the transport to the driver's side and
climbed in. We traveled without speaking the rest of the morning.
I had only heard stories of the palace of Antony and did not even
notice at first that we had arrived. My initial impression was
one of a small clearing surrounded by huge trees of some exotic
sort that I was unfamiliar with. I then cast my eyes skyward.
Above me in the canopy of those magnificent old trees was Antony's
palace. The tree branches and huge trunks were full of dwellings
of all sorts. Bridges spanned unbelievable distances tying it
all together. Lights twinkled from unknown sources throughout
the dark branches of the trees. As my eyes traveled the length
of one of the catwalks, I spied the young King. He was smiling
down at me, and I felt safe for the first time in four days.
I was shown to my quarters where I took a long, hot bath. I dressed
quickly in the new clothes I was given and was fed a King's banquet.
I had settled back in my chambers for the evening with a glass
of brandy and found myself marveling at the most comfortable pajamas
and robe I had ever worn, when there was a knock on my door. When
I opened it, I was surprised to see Antony standing in the doorway.
I bowed respectfully and stepped away for him to enter. He moved
close to me and extended his hand to my shoulder.
I will never forget the words he spoke to me then, and I will
never repeat them for any other ears. They were and still remain
too precious to me. I will state, however, that the young King
let it be known to me that I would always have a home with him
and his line no matter what the outcome of the impending war might
be. He also sat and talked with me long into the evening hours.
We talked of his brothers and of their desires.
Never once did he ask me to betray either of them. Never once
did he ask me to be his spy. Never once did he ask me to turn
my back on a Broughcut.
I slept hard through the night and late into the morning. I awoke
with a start - sitting straight up in bed. I was consumed with
a feeling of urgency. How could I have forgotten to inform Antony
about all I had learned of the four assassins during my journey.
I immediately inquired of his whereabouts to one of the guards
and was instead directed to Gen. Ramrod's quarters. When I arrived,
the old general was hunched over a large table covered with maps.
His concentration was so intense that at first I did not think
he saw me. I stood motionless just inside of the entryway and
waited. After several minutes without looking up and still focused
on the maps before him, Ramrod finally asked me what I wanted.
I told him of my travels - my escape from Cire's prison with the
aid of a stranger; my encounter with Toddanson in a Splat City
hospital; the information I learned from Buck about the assassin
from the North; and my memorable meeting with the Vurki chief.
When I mentioned the Vurki, Ramrod took his eyes from his work
and glared at me. I cowered slightly under the old warhorse's
gaze, but soon remembered what I was getting to. I told Gen. Ramrod
all I knew of the fourth assassin and particularly his vow to
destroy the Broughcut line.
When I had finished, the general seemed more at ease with me than
in the recent past. He thanked me then assured me that he would
personally get the information to Antony. I thanked him in return
and left him to his maps. The rest of the day I spent acclimating
myself to my new surroundings.
Over the next few days I fell right in place in the Painted Forest.
Antony took precious time out of each day to show me the many
wonders of his adopted home. As the time for war drew closer,
he seemed to be seeking my approval - no, approval is too strong
a word. Antony is and will always be his own man. But he was seeking
something from me, of that I was sure. Maybe I had become the
only one he could trust outside of his military personnel - I
am not certain - and the reason is unimportant. But the fact remains,
I was finding myself in deep conversations with him regularly.
It was on one of these tours through his realm that he stopped
briefly beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree and bid me to
sit with him. I sat down beside him and produced a ripe red apple
from my pocket and offered it to him. He smiled and shook his
head and took the offered fruit. As he sliced into the apple the
juices poured down the blade of his knife. The snow white meat
shone brightly in his hand. He offered me a cut piece and as I
chewed he began to talk.
Antony started off by saying that he was aware of what the Broughcut
family meant to me. He chewed the apple slowly as he carved another
slice for me. Antony paused for a moment, his jaw muscles still
working the apple but his eyes distant. I looked at his hand holding
the knife, so steady, so solid.
Antony refocused and then began to tell me details of his father's
death. King Anson had been poisoned. His death was murder - an
assassination. He went on to tell me about the slow acting poison
that had been found in the bloodstream of the King upon the performance
of the autopsy. It was a very rare and deadly elixir that had
slowly killed the King over a period of several months. It was
the type of poison that had to be administered regularly. Therefore,
the assassin had been very close to the workings of the palace,
and had apparently been there for quite some time.
Antony smiled at me and asked me how the apple was. I realized
then that I had stopped chewing so I quickly finished and then
swallowed. Antony continued by stating that the King never had
a meal without bread and that the palace baker had not been seen
since the exodus to the Painted Forest. He smirked as he told
me that Ramrod thought I was a more likely suspect.
I wasn't sure what to say. But I did realize the importance of
the moment. Antony took and ate the apple that I had offered.
He knew I could be trusted. Of course, he shared the apple. Antony
is no fool.
We sat in silence for some time. What I had learned under that
oak tree explained the reason for Antony leaving Castle Broughcut
and Gen. Ramrod's desire to get him to a safe spot.
Antony finished the apple, picked the seeds from the core and
then placed them in a pouch at his side. He shrugged his shoulders
and said, "Habit." His face was still that of the young
prince I use to watch running down the halls of the great keep.
For a moment, his face reminded me of another - and of the secret
I had sworn to take to my grave.
I take pen in hand in order to set in writing the truth. I have
been haunted since my meeting with Antony beneath the shade of
the old oak - and I can't get her face out of my mind. Shawlee.
The fourth child of Anson and Jacquilyn Broughcut.
It has been nearly twenty years, but I remember clearly the night
I was summoned to the Queen's chambers by the midwife. When I
arrived, the Queen was with her nurse and at her breast was the
child. The Queen was ghostly pale. Her hair was plastered to her
head with sweat from the efforts of labor and the look in her
eyes was one of acceptance. She knew she was dying. In halting
gasps and fading breaths she told me that the King had refused
to even lay eyes on the infant...he blamed the child...and he
ordered the midwife to "dispose" of it. The
Queen held her baby on her chest and asked me to help. I leaned
forward and gently lifted the tiny infant from her mother's arms.
I looked down at the fragile baby girl for only a moment. When
I looked back at the Queen, she had already passed. The midwife
sat at the side of her mistress and wept.
After a few minutes, I turned to leave with the infant. Just as
I reached the door, the midwife stopped me. She quickly removed
the signet ring from the Queen's finger and brought it over to
me. She told me to keep it with the child, and to this day I remember
her words, "Someday it may be her only hope."
That night I traveled to a distant village and brought the baby
to my good friends the O'Briens. I told them everything. I knew
they would cherish the little girl and raise her as their own,
and I did exactly as the midwife had asked. I left the ring with
the baby girl.
I tried to keep in touch with the O'Briens, and I visited when
I could. But as Shawlee got older, the O'Briens seemed more threatened
by my visits. I eventually lost track of them when they left the
Broughcut Realm to start a new life. Shawlee was eight years old
the last time I saw her.
The Vurki assassin vowed to end the Broughcut line. If he knows
of Shawlee, she may pay with her life for a name that she never
knew was hers...and I have no way to warn her.
It had been nearly a week since Antony and I shared the apple
under the shade of the old oak. Since then, I had become completely
fascinated with the way the operation around the Painted Forest
was running. Everyone worked together in a joint effort and with
a common goal.
I was particularly amazed at the amount of foodstuffs and water
storage tanks that seemed to be everywhere. Dried meats hung from
racks, grains overflowed from baskets and jars, fruit of all kinds
and manner laid drying in the sun or were being canned, all put
up for future use. It was apparent that if this war were fought
with food, King Antony would surely win. Alas, it takes more.
As I looked around, I failed to spot a single blacksmith or weapons
maker. It was either all being done at a different location or
Antony was in serious trouble.
As the land geared up for the impending conflict, more and more
of Antony's followers arrived. Small log buildings seem to pop
up literally overnight. As I was passing one of the newly constructed
log huts, conversation poured out of the door. I could not help
but pause as I listened to two men discuss Splat City. I did not
want to seem as if I was eavesdropping, but I was eager for new
information, so I gently knocked on the door jam to announce my
presence. A tall, burly fellow, round of face and stomach, appeared
in the doorway and asked if he could help me.
I told him my name, which he immediately recognized (I had become
somewhat of a celebrity due to my closeness to the King). Before
I could even apologize for my interruption, the brawny man introduced
himself as Brunfield, stepped aside and invited me to enter.
I crossed the threshold and immediately noted that the only furniture
in the room consisted of a simple wooden table, four chairs and
a bunk. A fire was in the hearth and the room smelled of home
cooking. Sitting at the table was a young man who appeared to
have just finished a long journey. He had a fresh scar on his
face, still bright pink. His blond hair was unkempt and he looked
hungry. In front of him was a steaming bowl of stew and he grasped
the spoon like a weapon. This was the man I had heard talking
about the city.
As he inhaled the bowl of food in front of him, Brunfield introduced
the lad as Rush Karlson. As Rush continued to eat, I told him
the details of my own, brief adventure to the City of Splat. Brunfield
took the empty bowl and refilled it before I asked the young man
what news he had from that part of the realm. He glanced nervously
at our host, and was immediately assured that it was okay to tell
me everything. The young man's hunger was not yet satisfied when
he began to tell me, between bites, what he had seen.
Rush and his best friend had left the Painted Forest about two
weeks ago in a search for the true King. The two believed that
if they could see and hear each Prince for themselves, they would
be able to make an informed choice. Rush needed to be sure before
he would swear his allegiance to any man.
When the two friends arrived in Splat City, they were directed
to the town square where a rally was underway. The square was
packed full of people, mostly young. It seemed that the youth
of the realm had all gathered in one place. Rush detailed how
they watched and listened as Prince Toddanson spoke. Rush went
on to tell how the young Prince seemed to capture the attention
of the throng of youngsters. His visions and dreams fell right
into the feelings of the youth. The way he spoke to the crowd
seemed to be personal, one-on-one, even though he and his friend
had been standing literally elbow-to-elbow. It was then that Rush
watched the change come over his friend. He said that suddenly
the man he had traveled with seemed to be at home. It was there
that his friend swore his allegiance to Toddanson.
The smell of the city, the crowds, the shops were all too much
for Rush and shortly after the rally ended, he wanted to go home.
Rush unconsciously stroked the scar on his face with his right
hand when he said his friend did not want to leave and that they
parted abruptly. In the end, Rush was forced to head home and
leave his best friend behind.
The safest route back was the main road that would take him towards
Cire's Realm. As he started out, with no provisions and only a
canteen of water, he couldn't help but notice the amount of people
still heading towards the city. The groups were mainly young men
and older boys, all with talk of glory for the realm and their
new king. They spoke as if it had already been decided.
Rush paused in his story and looked up from the bowl of stew.
His eyes were hollow, drawn and old, in stark contrast to his
youthful face as he said, "How eager they all seemed to die."
The lad shook his head slightly, shrugged his shoulders and continued
his story telling how the course grew more dangerous the further
he moved from the city, forcing him to travel at night. Well armed
bands of mercenaries were all heading in the same direction as
he, towards the Mine Field and Cire's Realm. With food and water
being so scarce, no one was safe on the road. Many times he told
me that he dove into the ditch as the sound of vehicles approached.
He moved slowly but steadily towards home.
On dawn of the fourth day he reached the intersection that would
lead him either to the Mine Field or back to the Painted Forest.
After seeing the kind of men heading for Cire's Realm. Rush decided
to head for the Painted Forest. His search had ended back where
it had begun.
The young man told me how he came back to swear his loyalty and
life to Antony. By the look in his eyes I believed he meant it.
Later that afternoon, I found myself with Antony in his office.
There was a knock on the door. Gen. Ramrod entered along with
another man, who I must admit made me feel very uncomfortable.
The tall stranger was dressed in the standard woodsman's garb
that I had begun to recognize on so many others, except that with
him it looked different, more menacing. Gen. Ramrod closed the
door and Antony rose from his desk. The smile on Antony's face
relaxed me somewhat, but I have to say I still felt very uneasy
beneath the stranger's gaze.
Antony approached the man with open arms and they embraced. To
know that my King even knew such a man was disturbing enough,
but the fact that they were such good friends really bothered
me. I stood from my chair, still under the stranger's watch, as
he had not once taken his eyes from me the entire time he greeted
Antony. The King introduced the man to me. His name was Jonstone,
and effective immediately he was Antony's bodyguard.
The last thing Ramrod did before he left the room was deliver
his standing order to Jonstone. His words still ring in my ears..."Never
leave the King's side and protect him with your life. If he dies,
you die."
It was one of those early spring evenings. A gentle cold rain
fell outside as if winter were attempting a comeback. I gazed
out of my window, pen in hand, and looked down at the small city
that had grown up around us so swiftly. It is amazing what people
are capable of accomplishing when a cause overwhelms them.
The small wooden and log structures dotted the landscape beneath
the great towering trees that held Antony's Palace. The smoke
from the crude chimneys gently wafted across the scene as the
smell of cooking fires filled my nostrils. Food. It had become
apparent from my conversation with Rush that food was becoming
scarce in the other parts of the realm. I watched as darkness
swallowed the woods and the fires and small lanterns began to
sparkle to life?and I allowed myself to think back to the details
I learned in Brunfield's cabin.
On his second night out, Rush had told of his encounter with a
band of mercenaries and how he had been forced to spend the hours
of darkness in a ditch right beside the spot they had decided
to strike camp. He remained motionless the entire time, never
once making a sound. The insects feasted on him as he hid within
mere feet of the sentry. Young Rush had overheard much that night
about the vast riches that Prince Cire possessed, and of the massive
stockpile of explosives. He had also heard about an alchemist
and the mysterious things they were accomplishing with the minerals
that were being discovered during the mining operations.
What intrigued me even more was when Rush described events on
the last night of his journey. Again he had been forced to the
side of the road but this time due to the sound of a vehicle.
A large transport stopped and he remained still once again waiting
to see what was going to happen. He dreaded the thought of spending
another night as mosquito bait and raised his head to see if he
was able to make it away safe or not. He saw a dark figure, cloaked
and moving - no- Rush had said "floating" across
the road towards the transport. Rush instinctively got as close
as he could to the ground; hugging the earth.
With the smell of the moist soil in his nose and the taste of
dirt in his mouth, he listened keenly for any movement coming
towards him. The first sound he heard was a thud, as if someone
were unloading a sack of grain. Five of these muffled thuds were
followed by gunshots. At the sound of the weapon going off, Rush
flattened himself even more. It had all happened incredibly fast
and equally as fast it was over and it was eerily still.
Rush slowly raised his head. The transport was still there, the
engine silent. Slowly floating among the black lumps surrounding
the transport was the cloaked figure. Rush said that he seemed
to be looking for something.
The moon was now above the tree line; its soft, pale light making
its way between the branches to illuminate the scene. At that
moment, Rush saw the man's face and the glint of his sharak. The
man was most certainly a Vurki. The black lumps were clearly bodies
and the thuds he had heard must have been the corpses striking
the ground.
Rush told me he watched him for several minutes and engraved his
features in his mind. He was totally confident that he would be
able to identify the Vurki assassin on sight.
The lad waited long after the man left to make certain that he
wasn't going to return before he raised himself from his hiding
spot and slowly moved towards the transport. As he moved through
the carnage, he counted the bodies of twelve men on the ground.
Hunger and thirst had taken over common sense and Rush decided
to investigate the contents of the transport.
As the moon steadily rose, the light revealed that the bodies
littering the ground were Toddanson's men - easily identified
by their tunics. Rush stepped over the bodies to open the rear
doors of the cargo hatch. Hoping to discover food, he found that
the cargo was predominately medicine. The boxes were all labeled,
but the chemical names for the drugs meant nothing to him. Among
the crates were computer chips and circuit boards, worthless when
you are hungry. After opening a number of the boxes he decided
that he had pushed his luck far enough and continued his journey
home.
I went back to the opened window, the drizzle had now become a
full-fledged shower. The light from Ramrod's headquarters was
still burning bright. Brunfield and Rush were most certainly with
him now, filling him in on the details and giving him a complete
description of who we now know is the Vurki assassin.
As the first flash of lightning lit the night sky and the sound
of thunder echoed into the darkness, I feared this storm would
be nothing compared to the storm about to be unleashed in the
Broughcut Realm.
I had just finished breakfast when there came a knock on my chamber
door. I opened it to find Rayneer standing there with that big
smile of his. He brushed past me into the room and asked if I
would be interested in a little horseback riding. It had been
years since I had ridden, but the spring day that had just begun
seemed too perfect to decline the offer.
As we walked to the stables, Rayneer told me that we were going
out to inspect some of the food and water storage facilities that
were close to the border of no-man's land to the east. It had
been three days since he had inspected them and thought I might
enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. He was right. I found myself
actually looking forward to the ride.
When we arrived at the stables we were met by about twenty of
Rayneer's border guards. I was handed a set of reins that were
attached to a fine-looking chestnut mare. She had a look about
her that I immediately liked. Her eyes showed depth and she appeared
calm, unlike the other horses around us. No panic or skittish
look to her. As I moved to her, my hand brushing her head and
mane, I noticed the brass plate on her bridle read Summertime.
Little did I know just how close the two of us would become.
As I sat in the saddle I felt a little uneasy, it had been a long
time since I had been on the back of a horse. Rayneer, sensing
my hesitation, assured me that Miss Summertime would do me fine.
We started out at a trot moving past the log buildings and into
the forest.
The trails were wide and well maintained. We rode out, Rayneer
and I at the head of the column. The ground was moist from the
previous night's rain and we splashed through occasional puddles
as we rode. I began to feel more comfortable as we went. The horse
seemed to know I was a bit rusty, and she was very forgiving of
me.
After about an hour we reached our first stop. It was a small
building made of logs and set off the main trail about a hundred
feet. I was grateful to dismount and stretch my legs. The guards
dismounted as well and fanned out around the area. Following Rayneer,
I led Miss Summertime behind me and we moved towards the cabin.
Rayneer reached the door and undid the latch. He held my horse's
reins and told me to look inside.
I saw containers of water filling the entire cabin. Rayneer told
me it was one of many that were placed throughout the realm. As
he closed the door and latched it, he also told me that there
were cabins filled with food as well. No matter what, there was
plenty of food and water for the troops. With the food and water
spread out, no supply line could ever be cut?because there was
no supply line. Every man, woman and child knew the locations
of the caches.
We remounted and headed back down the road. We stopped and checked
several of the cabins, all were in good shape. It was well after
noon when we noticed one of the guards galloping towards us. He
skidded his mount to a halt, Summertime shying slightly as he
did. The guard calmly informed Rayneer that a group of foot soldiers,
fifty or more, were headed this way. He informed his captain that
they carried the blue banner of the rising sun - Cire's men.
At that moment I realized what was happening. I quickly looked
to the top of the hill from where the guard had come. Cresting
was a line of men moving in formation directly at us. It had begun.
The Painted Forest was being raided.
Rayneer began to snap out orders, his men instantly springing
to action. The line moved rapidly towards us as I stared in stunned
silence. I could now clearly see the blue rising sun banner. It
snapped in the wind as the sound of marching men grew louder in
my ears. Then something buzzed by my head. It sounded like a big
bee. I quickly looked around, expecting to see a hornet the size
of a sparrow, but saw nothing. Then I heard it again, this time
closer - flying right next to my ear. Suddenly I realized what
it was and at that same time Rayneer's men returned fire.
The popping of guns erupted all around us. Rayneer turned to his
communication's officer, only to be informed that the first shot
had taken out the long range radio strapped to his back. This
had all happened in mere seconds.
Rayneer reached to his belt and removed the small handheld radio
and shoved it in my hand. I could hear him calmly, but firmly,
instruct me to go get help. "Mac, as soon as you are out
of here, start trying to contact my men at Firebase One".
It was then that Rayneer's mount tumbled to the ground in front
of me. Before the poor creature had even struck the earth, Rayneer
was off him landing on his feet beside me, his ever-present smile
gone.
Rayneer spun my mount around and shouted, "RIDE!" As
he bellowed, he struck the hind flank of Miss Summertime and she
exploded into a run. I heard Rayneer yelling behind me, "GIVE
HER HER HEAD - SHE KNOWS THE WAY HOME!" I let the reins drop
and held on to her neck with both arms. I took one last look over
my shoulder. The blue line had met the small band and Rayneer
was battling for his life, the grin back on his face.
The bullets buzzed around me. I held on tight as Summer bolted
from the scene. My heart and mind were racing. All that I had
hoped would not happen was underway - and nothing could stop it
now. The sound of the battle blended with the pounding of Summer's
hoofs.
Every turn was known to her, every hole she jumped, never slowing
or seeming to tire. The sweat from her neck moistened my face
as I held tight and prayed I could stay on. Feeling as if I were
being pursued, I kept saying her name over and over. Faster
Summer.... faster girl.
Onward we flew, her hoofs digging into the soft dirt. We rounded
a bend at full speed and I leaned into the turn. As we came out
of the curve, three armed men burst from the woods. The men wore
the distinct colors of the blue army and looked determined to
stop me. I rose up slightly and locked eyes with one of the men,
then I dug my heels into Miss Summertime's side, closed my eyes
and held on tight to the only hope I had.
We slammed into the men as gunfire erupted. Summer never faltered,
never slowed. She plowed through the soldiers as if they were
not even there. Faster she ran, the battle now behind us. She
was keeping an impossible pace, running on pure heart.
I released my grip slightly and managed to get the small radio
out of my shirt. I did my best to call for help, repeating over-and-over
that Rayneer was in trouble along the eastern border, but I had
no idea at the time if I was getting through to anyone.
My arms and legs were weak and I did not know how much longer
I could hold on. White foam rose to the top of Summer's coat and
flew from her mouth as she drove onward. I began to falter, my
body starting to slide when I smelled the fires. I looked up and
we were racing into the log city.
The mare came to a halt right in the middle of the courtyard,
and I abruptly fell off. Instantly I was surrounded by people.
As I was helped to my feet, I kept repeating that I needed to
see the King. Strong arms helped me to a bench.
It was then that Brumfield pushed through the crowd. He told me
that my message had gotten through and help for Rayneer was on
its way. I slumped against the wall behind me. As I sat there
catching my breath, a young stable boy had Miss Summertime by
the reins and was leading her away.
I called out to the lad that she deserved extra oats and a good
rub down.
"Yes sir," he replied," but first let's get that
bullet out of her side."
I awoke the next morning to the sounds of activity down in the
courtyard. I looked out my window and saw Rayneer moving towards
Ramrod's cabin. Several of his men were with him and they all
looked battle hardened and worn. Their horses moved slowly, heads
down from exhaustion.
They had a prisoner in tow. His hands were bound behind his back
as he walked behind one of Rayneer's mounted warriors. The soldier
in blue was still walking proud, head held high, eyes straight
ahead. The line of men came to a halt. Antony arrived just as
Rayneer dismounted. They greeted each other with hearty handshakes,
a look of both relief and pride on the young King's face. They
then turned their attention to their captive.
I went down to have a look for myself. I was greeted at Ramrod's
door by Jonstone; the ever-present bodyguard still gave me the
willies. I was directed to a chair and allowed to observe. Present
were King Antony, Gen. Ramrod, Rayneer, Jonstone and myself?and
the prisoner. As Jonstone closed and bolted the door, a bad feeling
came over me. I feared for this young soldier's life.
The following transcription was taken during the interview.
King Antony: "Your name?"
Prisoner: "Sgt. Green."
Antony: "Good. Are you thirsty?"
Green: "Yes."
Antony: "Mac, get him some water. I want some information
from you Sgt. Green."
Green: "I can't help you."
Jonstone: "Give me twenty minutes alone with him, your majesty.
I guarantee you he will tell us everything we need."
Green: "Never."
RamRod: "It may be the only way."
Antony: "Let me say this here and now. I want no one to misunderstand
me on this issue. We will NOT resort to such measures. Remember,
all of you, when this is over - we must all be prepared to mend
th
