The Restored King (The Fallen King Chronicles Book 4) Page 11

  Aramis steepled his fingers and stared at the two men in silence, biting on his lower lip. “I think it’s worth the risk,” he finally said. “The information Bavol has is pivotal to our next move. We don’t have much time, though. We’ve only got a few days left.”

  “Until what?” Mel asked, confused.

  Aramis smiled, the first time in a while. “While we were in Keswick, I sent a message to Lynessa.”

  “I vaguely remember that,” Mel said, nodding.

  “She promised me anything I needed if we helped her with the Warlock. I asked her to send her armies to Oakhaven.”

  Mel’s surprise was sincere. “I had no idea!”

  “I know,” Aramis said. “I figured the less people who knew about it, the more of a surprise it would be to my brother when her troops showed up.”

  “Her armies alone should suffice if it comes to violence,” Mel said excitedly. “Then there’s the refugees who band together.”

  “And the druids,” Aramis said. “I instructed Lynessa to send word to the druids as well.”

  “You didn’t tell me about any druids.”

  “It was after … you were gone. Anyway, I helped them as well. They don’t want war and they won’t use their magic to harm anyone directly, but their help will be an invaluable defense against Mordum’s dark magic.”

  “I must confess something,” Mel said. “I will follow you anywhere, to any danger. You are my friend, my brother. But I had my doubts about whether or not we could do this. Now,” Mel’s eyes lit up, “now, I think we have a chance.”

  “That makes two of us,” Aramis said.

  “Talent is only the beginning.

  The real magic lies in perfection through relentless practice.”

  —Larson

  CHAPTER ten

  The messenger was the first of the two to leave. Shortly after, the other man followed. Bavol’s men had stayed at the inn long enough for Aramis and Mel to take turns cleaning up while the other watched them to make sure they didn’t leave.

  They paid the barmaid and left the inn. The air had gotten cooler since their arrival, and it was a nice change to the stuffy inn. The servant didn’t appear to be as nervous. He walked with a purposeful stride down the cobbled road, not paying any attention to his surroundings. He’s not concerned with safety, Aramis noted.

  The man walked for a quarter of an hour, still seeming oblivious to his pursuers. He kept turning down different side streets and even began to whistle a melody. Aramis was taking care to try and be aware of their surroundings, but his main focus was on the man they were following.

  “My Lord,” Mel whispered suddenly. “We’re going in a circle.”

  Aramis looked around and realized they were passing the inn they had left earlier. The hair on his arms began to tingle as he realized the trap.

  The man stopped walking and turned to face them. He continued his whistling a moment longer, then smiled mischievously.

  “A couple of rogues, then? Seeking to cut my throat and take my purse?” He folded his arms across his chest. “You’ll find more than you bargained for here.”

  Several men, armed and armored, stepped out of the shadows between the buildings.

  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Mel said, holding up his hands. “We just want to talk with you.”

  “Right,” the man said. “I won’t fall so easily to your highwayman tricks.” He nodded at one of the men. He drew his sword and began to approach.

  “I’m looking for Lord Bavol,” Aramis said. “You’re one of his men, aren’t you?”

  The man tilted his head in curiosity. “And you are?”

  Aramis looked to Mel, then back to the man. “Aramis, rightful king of Oakvalor.”

  The man unfolded his arms and looked around. “You’d best be keeping that information quiet,” he said. “Sheath your blade, Sergid. He’s an ally. Let’s go somewhere safer to talk.”

  He led them to one of the dark buildings a few spaces down from the inn. The man made sure no one was watching them, then led them inside. They paused in the doorway as he lit a lantern. The dim light illuminated what Aramis thought was someone’s home.

  “The people who lived here left a few weeks ago,” the man said. “We’ve been using it for our network.” He hung the lantern from a hook in the ceiling and motioned them in. The man he’d referred to as Sergid closed the door and took up a position in front of it.

  “You can’t be too careful these days. Especially with that despot Adamar on the throne.”

  Adamar, Aramis thought. So, that’s his name.

  “So I’ve heard,” Aramis replied. “I’ve encountered a number of people on the road. Their stories are all similar. What’s your name?”

  The man bowed low. “I am Larson,” he answered. “Humble servant to Lord Bavol and commander of his house guard.”

  “You fooled me back there,” Aramis said. “Watching you at the inn, I assumed you were an anxious type.”

  “All part of the ruse,” Larson grinned.

  “How’d you know I was watching you?”

  “Not all of those men were soldiers. At least, not ones loyal to Adamar. One of them caught your interest in me and gave me a hand signal. Pretending to be a bumbling servant was easy. I’m glad you weren’t a rogue. We’ve had to kill too many of them.” Larson frowned.

  “I’m glad you aren’t a spy,” Aramis replied. “Do you really not know where Bavol is, or was that part of your ploy as well?”

  “I wish it were,” Larson answered. “He’s been missing since he and Hannah left Oakhaven. They were supposed to go into hiding at a cabin he owns a few hours from here. According to the last missive he sent, Adamar had taken an interest in Hannah.”

  Aramis felt bile rise in his throat. He forced himself to swallow it. The gruesome images from his vision flooded his mind. Her mutilated body lying on the side of a road. A man he didn’t recognize tossing a coin onto her body.

  “Was there a specific road they would have taken?”

  “We’ve checked every road out of Oakhaven,” Larson said. “No sign of them. They would have taken a wagon, and we haven’t seen any signs of passage near the cabin. It’s almost as if they simply disappeared. We’re all worried.”

  Aramis knew the feeling too well. “I think I might know where you can check, if you haven’t already.” He recalled the image of the road her body lay beside. There was a tall stone marker a few feet ahead, though it did not have any engravings or signs. “There’s an old hunting path that branches off the main road heading north.”

  Larson shook his head and looked to Sergid. They both shrugged.

  “It was one of my father’s favorite places to hunt. All of the nobles know where it is.”

  “Can you draw a map of it?” Larson asked. “I’ll have my men search it.”

  “I can do better than that,” Mel chimed in. “I’ll lead them there.”

  “I didn’t get your name,” Larson said to him.

  “Melchiades, but most people just call me Mel.”

  “It’s an honor,” Larson said. “Is the path far from here?”

  “A mile, maybe.”

  “Please, go with Sergid and show the men where this road is. If we can find them, I hope they are alive.”

  “A storm is coming in. Maybe we should hold off until morning?” Sergid asked.

  Larson nodded. “True. I wouldn’t want you getting lost in the night. Can you take them in the morning?”

  Mel glanced at Aramis.

  “We’ve got pressing business. I was hoping to reach Oakhaven tomorrow.”

  “How did you plan to enter the city?” Larson asked. “Adamar has it locked down tighter than a prison in Talvaard.”

  “That’s where we needed Bavol. He was working to rally the nobles to our cause. I was hoping to get there without bloodshed. I was also hoping to take the throne back without war.”

  “Those are some high hopes, if I can be so bold. A
damar has the nobles by the balls, some by fear and others by loyalty. Some of them remember him when he was younger.”

  “Then what do we do?” Aramis asked.

  “We can get you into the city,” Larson said. “But what are your plans once inside? I don’t think you can trust anyone, especially the nobles.”

  Aramis didn’t know what he planned to do. He’d put all of his thought into getting there alive, he didn’t think about what he’d do if he succeeded. “I’m … not sure,” he said. “I know that doesn’t sound promising, but it’s been Hell just trying to get here. Do you have any suggestions? You’ve obviously been in the city. Where should we stay? We’ve got to setup a place of operations. I’ve got an army headed this way.”

  “An army, you say? How large?”

  “Lady Lynessa from Keswick is sending her troops to aide us.”

  Larson whistled. “That’s great news. You’re definitely going to need it. Adamar has those black robed priests that follow him around. They give me the chills. There’s also been a lot of rumors that there’s some sort of ceremony that’s going to happen soon. We haven’t been able to get the details, but it sounds like a big deal. Lots of mercenaries are showing up, too.”

  “Gods,” Aramis growled. “This is getting more difficult to fathom by the minute.”

  “Sorry,” Larson shrugged. “I’m just giving you the facts. Once we get you into the city, I think it would be a good idea for you to only travel at night, and only under guard.”

  “Won’t having guards be conspicuous?” Aramis asked.

  “Don’t worry about that. No one will be any wiser. I’m sure you both are exhausted. There’s beds upstairs. I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow will come faster than you want it to.”

  “Thank you,” Aramis said. “I appreciate everything.”

  “I’m just doing my duty to the crown,” Larson said. “We’ll keep the house guarded. Get some rest. Until tomorrow.”

  “Until tomorrow,” Aramis said.

  —

  Aramis was plagued by nightmares. Each time he awoke—drenched in sweat with his heart rapidly pounding in his chest—he would convince himself to go back to sleep. And each dream was worse than the last. Every one of his senses were affected by the dreams, making them seem so real that he woke himself from crying out. After waking from the last nightmare, he realized that sunset was not long in arriving.

  He used a hand mirror and a razor he had found in the room to shave his face. No matter how dirty and sweaty he got on the road, he hated the feeling of an unshaven face the most. After he finished, he stared at his reflection for a long while. He scrutinized every inch of skin. It had only been a few months since he’d fled his home, yet he seemed to have aged by many years. Bags under his eyes did little to help. And his dark eyes were like two black pits in his head. The sight unnerved him. He flung the mirror at the wall, shattering it. The floor was littered with shards of glass.

  “My Lord?”

  Aramis turned to see Mel in the doorway. He hadn’t heard him come in. “Yes?”

  “The men have prepared breakfast, if you are feeling hungry.”

  “I’ll be down shortly,” Aramis said.

  “I’m going to show Sergid and a few others where the trail is. I’ll be back as quickly as possible.”

  Aramis nodded. “I’ll meet you in Oakhaven, then. Larson is taking me there today. We need to prepare for what’s coming.”

  Aramis knew that Mel didn’t like the idea of them traveling separate. The look on his face made that evident. But they both knew, too, that there was little choice in the matter. Lord Bavol had important information.

  “Don’t do anything rash,” Mel said, only half-jokingly.

  Aramis grunted in reply. After Mel left, Aramis went downstairs and ate a small meal. Although he was hungry, he just didn’t feel like eating. Larson showed up shortly after and gave him a change of clothes. Aramis hadn’t realized how dirty and torn his own were despite cleaning them the night before. The clothes were a drab shade of brown and made of cheap material.

  “You’ll stand out less,” Larson explained. “We want as little attention on you as possible.”

  Aramis didn’t argue. The sooner he was in the city, the better. He assumed they would have ridden horses, but Larson thought traveling on foot was a better idea.

  “It’s easier to hide without a horse,” he said. “Patrols are everywhere.”

  It took a few hours to reach the city. They would have arrived earlier, but a large group of soldiers had caused them to take a roundabout approach to the city. Aramis assumed they would enter the city through the main gate with some sort of disguise. Instead, Larson led him to a sewer grate on the side of one of the walls. Larson glanced around, then lifted the grate up and motioned Aramis to get in the tunnel.

  “Hurry,” he said.

  Aramis obeyed and climbed inside. The tunnel was small, only four feet high. He had to crawl on his hands and knees. He heard the gate close behind him.

  “Where does this lead?” Aramis asked.

  Larson laughed. “I don’t think you want to know.”

  A few feet in and Aramis’s hands touched something wet and slimy. A foul smell assaulted him. “Gods, please tell me we aren’t in the sewer.”

  “We’re not in the sewer.”

  “Then, where are we?”

  “The sewer. I told you that you didn’t want to know.”

  “Yeah,” Aramis muttered.

  Larson squeezed by him and guided their crawl. After a hundred feet, they reached a large open chamber lit with torches. Aramis was glad they didn’t have light in the tunnel. There was no telling what he might have touched.

  “I found this place shortly after Adamar took the throne. We haven’t explored all the tunnels. Some of them are caved in. But this one leads out of the city. We use it to get in and out without being noticed. We’ll wait here until nightfall, then we’ll go up to the city.”

  “Up?” Aramis asked, looking toward the ceiling.

  “Yes. This room is underground. There’s a ladder against the far wall there,” Larson pointed, “that leads into an alley between some shops.”

  “What do we do until then?”

  Larson shrugged. “Make yourself comfortable?”

  Aramis spotted a cot. “Is that clean?” he asked.

  “Yes, I had one of my men bring it here earlier.”

  “Good.” Aramis climbed into it and propped his arms behind his head. The minutes ticked by slowly. Larson pulled a dagger from his boot and began sharpening it with a whetstone.

  Sssk, sssk, sssk. Pause. Sssk, sssk, sssk. Pause.

  Aramis’s eyes began to grow heavy. His long night of terrible dreams had finally caught up with him. He vaguely heard Larson continue to sharpen his blade. Sssk, sssk …

  His eyes opened and he felt someone touching his shoulder. He snapped his head up and reached for his attacker, only to realize it was only Larson.

  “Sorry,” Larson said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s time.”

  “It’s dark already?” Aramis asked, surprised. That was the first time he’d slept without having a nightmare.

  “Yes. I was going to wait until I’d heard from Sergid, but no messenger has arrived yet. I’ll take you up. There’s a tavern you can use at night. The owner was loyal to your father and he’s given us his blessing to use it. During the day, you’ll need to stay here. Your sleeping routine will have to change for the next few days.”

  “What sleep?” Aramis said with a chuckle.

  “How long before your army arrives?”

  “If Lynessa sent them when I asked? Three days, maybe four.”

  Larson tilted his head and squinted his eyes, muttering calculations to himself.

  “If they don’t kill or capture the patrols on their way in, Adamar will know they’re coming before they get close. The element of surprise will be lost and he’ll be prepared to fight. I’ll send a runner to pass the
word to the army.”

  “Good idea,” Aramis replied. “I honestly hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Well then,” Larson motioned toward the ladder. “After you.”

  They climbed up and opened a grate like the one on the outside of the walls. The grate opened and closed without a sound. Larson must keep it oiled, he thought. The night air was warm. The alley they came up into was quiet and dark except for the rats and other denizens of the night that scurried in the shadows.

  Larson closed the grate and then motioned for Aramis to follow him. They paused at the end of the alley, then Larson casually stepped out into the main street and glanced around. Satisfied all was clear, he nodded to Aramis. The two walked a block north, toward the castle, and stopped at the building on the corner of the street. A newly painted sign swung above the doorway. It read: Kingsway Tavern. Aramis found the name funny in an ironic way.

  They entered the building and found that it was empty with the exception of the owner, who stood behind the bar.

  “Larson,” he greeted with a nod. He was wiping a glass with a rag.

  “Albert,” Larson replied, “this is Aramis.”

  Albert set the glass on the counter, tucked the rag into his belt, and came around the bar. He stopped a few feet from Aramis and knelt on one knee.

  “My Lord,” he said humbly, “as I served your father, so I shall serve you. Anything you require is yours. Merely say the word.”

  “Thank you, Albert. Please, rise.”

  Albert stood back up. “Business has been slow lately, so I was just doing some cleaning. Do you need anything?”

  “Yes,” Aramis answered. “Ink and paper, if you have any.”

  “Of course.” Albert disappeared behind the bar and returned a moment later carrying parchment paper, a quill, and an ink vial.

  Larson cleared his throat. “We may want to keep you out of sight. In case anyone decides to come in for a drink.”

  “Take any room you want,” Albert said.

  Aramis accepted the items from Albert and headed toward the stairs that led to the rooms. Larson followed. Aramis picked a room at random, checking to make sure it had a desk. He took a seat and began scribbling onto the paper.