Farizel had found out what happened when it was already too late. He spent the morning in town and returned to the palace in the afternoon—and the first thing he heard was about Jeco’s arrest.
“Accused of treason?!” Farizel asked, looking incredulously at his butler who delivered the news to him. “Are you sure, Marias? Jecosan Tarres? Why? On what grounds?”
“I do not know much, Your Lordship,” the butler replied. “But it was His Majesty’s order. All I know is that soldiers were sent to the library, they brought Mr. Tarres to the king, and after a short interrogation he was taken to jail. It sounds like His Majesty thinks he is a spy.”
“A spy?! What a crazy thing!”
Farizel threw off his cloak and hat and went to the king.
Alvard met him with a stern, dark look.
“I know what brings you here, Farizel,” he said. “Yes, it is true. Your student has been spying for the black knight.”
“But that’s not possible!” Farizel exclaimed, amazed at the king’s assurance. “How in the world did you get this idea?! It’s got to be a mistake!”
“He confessed, Farizel. There is no mistake.”
“He confessed?!”
“Yes.”
Farizel plopped on a chair.
“What did he say?... What did he confess to?”
“To everything. He was asked directly whether he was sent here with a secret mission and whether he is connected with the man known as the black knight. He said yes.”
“I want to talk to him.”
“There is no need. He will be interrogated according to the standard procedure.”
“I want to talk to him myself!” Farizel insisted. “There’s got to be some mistake!”
Alvard winced, annoyed. “Listen, Farizel—I don’t have time for this. I knew you wouldn’t believe it; he did a darn good job gaining your sympathy and your trust. I have to admit he almost gained mine as well, and now I see why: he was trained to do so. Very well trained. I don’t blame you for falling into his trap, but would you please drop it now. Jecosan Tarres has turned out to be a traitor, and you have to accept it.”
“But it cannot be true! Allow me to see him, in your presence, and I will prove it.”
“I said no!” Alvard frowned, raising his voice. “Or does the king’s word mean nothing to you? I can’t personally deal with each criminal, I’ve got other things to do. Now, if you have nothing else to say, would you excuse me. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with one of my advisors.”
“Very well.”
Seeing no use to insist, Farizel rose and walked out. Whatever it was that had suddenly turned the king against Tarres and made him believe this impossible idea, he was dead set on it, and it would take more than just talking and reasoning to reassure him.
He said Tarres confessed, Farizel thought as he walked to the prison tower. Why in the world?! What did they do to him to make him admit such an impossible thing? Secret mission? Spying for the black knight? What a bunch of nonsense!...
Farizel halted as a certain detail emerged in his memory. Their first ride together, their long conversation when he, Farizel, was just getting to know the boy. He asked why Tarres had decided to leave his village and go to Kanavar. Tarres tried to sidestep it, and after Farizel kept questioning him he said that he couldn’t share that, that it was his secret. Farizel didn’t think much of it back then, he figured it had to be something personal—perhaps a love story, or some embarrassing incident. But now, in the light of what happened, the episode took a new meaning.
So… Was there some truth to this terrible accusation? Farizel quickened his pace, determined to find out. He was certain that Tarres wouldn’t lie to him.
He approached the prison tower. There was a guard at the door, and he did not step away.
“I am very sorry, Your Lordship,” the soldier muttered, “but I can’t let you in.”
Farizel knew that he wouldn’t dare to stop him unless he had specific orders.
“I wish to see the warden.”
“Just a moment, Your Lordship.”
The soldier went inside, clearly relieved not to be the one held responsible. Soon the warden showed up, a dark-haired man with a short beard and moustache.
“Since when am I not allowed in your domain, Mr. Sholler?” Farizel asked.
“Since this morning, Your Lordship,” the man replied. “I am terribly sorry, but there is nothing I can do. It is His Majesty’s personal order.”
“I see.”
Farizel remained silent for a moment. It was against court regulations, according to which he had no restrictions and could enter any part of the palace—but, as Alvard had once said, he could cancel any part of the regulations, and it looked like he did just that.
“I believe you are aware which one of your prisoners I am interested in,” Farizel said. “Can you at least promise me that no torture will be applied to him?”
The warden bit his lip. “I will do what I can, Your Lordship… But if he continues to insist on talking only to the king himself, well, sooner or later I will be forced to—”
“Is that what he is doing? He wants to speak to the king?
“Yes.”
“I will try to persuade His Majesty to agree, or at least to let me interrogate the prisoner. Until then…” Farizel hated to use his power like this, but it seemed to be the only way to protect poor Tarres. “Until then, do your best to make sure the young man is not hurt. Tell your people that whatever they do to him will be done to them—I will see to it. That includes you as well.”
Leaving the stunned warden to take in the threat, Farizel went back to the palace.
Marias seemed to be waiting for him when he entered his rooms.
“…Any luck, Your Lordship?” the butler ventured.
Farizel glanced at him in surprise; it was the first time the always-minding-his-business butler had asked a personal question that went beyond his responsibilities.
“No, Marias. But I haven’t yet played all my cards. Get me a carriage, please, I am going back to the city.”
Marias bowed and left. Five minutes later he returned to inform that the carriage was ready. Farizel finished a letter he was writing, sealed it and tucked it into his pocket.
“Thank you, Marias. That was quick.”
He picked up his hat and cloak and went outside, to the back yard where the large silvery carriage was waiting.
“Take me to the chief judge,” Farizel told the driver. “Go as fast as you can.”
The driver did his best; in less than twenty minutes, the carriage rolled up to the judge’s luxurious mansion. Farizel came out, ran up the wide marble stairs and knocked. The servant who opened the door gaped at him, startled: normally, such important visitors wouldn’t come unannounced.
“Is the judge home?”
“…Yes, Your Lordship, he has just returned and is about to have dinner.”
“I will wait if I have to. Would you please tell him that I’ve got a very urgent matter to discuss.”
“Certainly, Your Lordship,” the servant bowed. “Please, come in.”
Farizel stepped into the large entrance hall. He didn’t have to wait long; just about a minute later the chief judge, a small gray-haired man, came running from the dining room, hurrying to personally greet the special guest. They were not close acquaintances, but the judge had been dreaming to befriend the all-powerful lord, so he was more than happy to welcome him, seeing this unexpected visit as a wonderful chance to establish a closer relationship.
“My dear Lord Farizel!” he exclaimed, approaching, his arms spread wide as if he wanted to give a hug. “What a pleasant surprise, and a great honor! You will not refuse to dine with us, of course? I have already ordered to serve another cover…”
“Thank you, judge, but I’m afraid I can’t,” Farizel replied in a serious, business-like tone. “I apologize for dropping in like this, uninvited, but the matter that brought me here is rather pressing. Therefore, I will allow myself to skip introductions and get right to the point. I want to ask you for a big personal favor.”
The judge shook his head with joking reproach.
“Knowing my sincere sympathy, Lord Farizel, you could have also skipped this needless apology. I am always happy to see you, and happy to be of any service. Consider your request done, no matter how big it is.”
“Do not bind yourself with a promise so lightly, judge,” Farizel warned. “You may regret that. But I do hope that the kindness you always show to me is sincere, and you will not refuse to help.”
The old man stopped smiling, getting concerned.
“Well… If this is something so serious, I believe we should step into my study. This way, Your Lordship.”
Farizel took off his hat and followed the invitation.
“So, what can I do for you?” the judge asked, having closed the door.
“I want to register an adoption. Right now.”
“Adoption?”
The judge’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. Oh yes, this was far from ordinary! He could already see himself sharing the stunning news: imagine that, Lord Farizel Narr has decided to pass on his gloriously-dishonored name to an adopted child!...
“Well, I think it can be arranged,” the old man muttered, trying to hide his less than appropriate excitement. “The regular procedure usually takes some time, but there’s a more speedy way, and I think I’ve got all the necessary forms here… May I ask who is the lucky child?”
“Jecosan Tarres.”
The name struck the poor judge like a lightning bolt: being one of the best informed people in the country, he already knew what had happened, and knew how dangerous it now was to interfere in this matter.
“Jecosan Tarres?...” he stammered. “But… But, if I’m not mistaken, that young man is under arrest?”
“That’s right,” Farizel nodded, looking him in the eye. “Moreover, he is accused of treason, which, as you know, can result in the death penalty. I will be honest with you, judge: this is my last hope to save him. Tarres is innocent, but His Majesty is very angered and does not wish to listen to anything. This is my last resort; I hope the king will not act rashly dealing with my son.”
“I see,” the judge could only say, averting his eyes. “I see…”
All his excitement at once disappeared. Looking completely lost, he stood at his desk, his hand on the back of the chair, his gaze helplessly wandering around.
“Listen, judge,” Farizel said, stepping closer. “I understand perfectly well how much I am asking for. I see all the risk, and I know that you have a lot to lose. But I still came to you, because I consider you a good man capable of such a decision. On my part, I promise to do everything I can to cover for you if things go bad.”
The chief judge was silent. He saw what could come out of it. The king might change his mind and release Tarres—and then everything was going to be just perfect: Farizel’s gratitude would have no bounds, his friendship and trust the judge had been trying so long to achieve would be his. But there was another possibility. The king could get mad and crush him like a bug.
“I will be honest with you, too, Lord Farizel,” the judge spoke at last, not looking at him. “You—you are endangering me… You understand that interfering in this is like—like getting between a hammer and anvil… You know how terrible the king’s wrath is. I cannot do this.”
He forced himself to look up and finished, his voice almost pleading, “Forgive me, Your Lordship. I will do anything for you, anything you want—but not this.”
“I don’t need anything else from you, judge,” Farizel quietly said, putting on his hat. “Good bye.”
He turned around and left the study. The judge watched him go, feeling miserable. He knew that he ruined it. At best, Lord Farizel would never talk to him again; at worst, he had just made a strong enemy. I can’t let him leave like that! the judge thought, desperate. I’ve got to make it up somehow, or at least try…
“Wait!” he shouted, running after the lord.
Farizel had already crossed the entrance hall and was about to walk through the door. Having heard the judge calling him, he stopped and looked back. The old man approached, having no idea of what he was going to say and how he would “make it up” for his refusal.
“Wait…” he repeated, trying to buy time and think of something.
Their eyes met. Suddenly, everything was crystal clear. There was only one thing to say and to do.
“I do not wish to be a coward,” the judge said. “I will authorize the adoption.”
They returned to the study. The judge opened a desk drawer, pulled out a stack of papers and started sorting them, picking the ones he needed.
“After all, I have no formal reasons to decline your request,” he muttered, more to himself than to Farizel, trying to calm down. “It is not against the law to adopt those who are under arrest.”
“I will never forget this, judge,” Farizel said.
“I hope so,” the old man nodded, then hurried to add, having caught himself, “I mean, I hope it works out and helps to release the young man.”
Farizel gave a half-smile. He understood very well what the judge really meant.
“Let us sit down. Here is a sample of the adoption petition,” the judge spoke, placing the forms in front of Farizel. “You’ll need to rewrite it with your own hand. This is the responsibility statement—that is, the responsibility the adopter bears. I’ll need you to sign two copies. You will take one, and I will keep the other.”
Farizel took a quill, quickly wrote the petition and signed the responsibility statements without reading them.
“Done. Is everything correct?”
The chief judge looked through the papers and signed them.
“There’s a one shemmel processing fee.”
“There you go,” Farizel nodded, laying a golden coin on the desk.
“Well… The only thing left to do is to write the adoption certificate and authorize it. Would you please wait a minute.”
The old man took a blank piece of paper and dipped the quill. Farizel watched him in silence. He knew what this decision had to cost the judge, whose trembling hand barely managed to write.
Having finished the certificate, the judge signed it and sealed the document, turning the son of an unknown soldier into the lord’s son.
“That’s it,” he said quietly, handing the paper to Farizel. “Congratulations, Your Lordship: now you have a son.”
Farizel accepted the document, read it and looked at the old man.
“I can be congratulated once more, judge: I have gained not only a son, but also a trusted friend.”
He extended his hand, and the judge took it, somehow feeling rewarded much more than he deserved.
“I am very honored, Your Lordship.”
Farizel reached into his pocket and took out a sealed letter.
“This is for you, judge, though I hope you will not have to use it. If things go bad, I will do my best to protect you, as I have promised. But if things go very bad and I will no longer be around, you and your family may have to flee the country. Then this letter will open some of the best homes of Tirgan and Bergalia for you.”
The judge had just realized that Farizel was risking no less, if not more. Yes, he was the second man in the country, but considering the temper of the first, no position was totally safe and secure. Especially with what the lord was doing.
“Thank you, Lord Farizel.” The judge studied him for a moment, searching for any sign of hidden anxiety. He didn’t find any. “I wonder how you can be so fearless.”
Farizel smiled. “Reckless, you mean? I guess I was born with it.”
***
“What is it that my lord wants to show me?” Henky-Roo asked, climbing the steep spiral stairs of the eastern tower.
“The truth,” replied Kagarlak who was far ahead of him. “Hurry up!”
“What truth?”
“A very important one. Move it, will you?!”
“I am coming, my lord, I am coming…”
Henky-Roo was doing his best, but he was getting out of breath. He had no idea why Kagarlak suddenly called him to go to the tower top. It was already getting dark, and the stars became visible, so it could have something to do with astrology. Astrology wasn’t one of Henky-Roo’s favorite disciplines. He wouldn’t mind taking a lesson from someone so knowledgeable as his mentor, but he was afraid that Kagarlak might give him some sort of a quiz first. That would have been a disaster. He would forget everything he knew under those piercing black eyes.
They had spent almost all day together, and the way Kagarlak treated his student hadn’t changed. He restrained himself in the king’s presence, but as soon as they left His Majesty’s quarters, his mean, hateful manner returned. He demanded that Henky-Roo showed him around the palace—as if he didn’t know it already, better than the king himself—and kept terrorizing the magician all the way. It was humiliating, especially when there were servants around. They had met some high-ranking officials as well; thankfully, Kagarlak would change his behavior while being introduced to them. Henky-Roo figured that it was the major reason he went on a tour through the palace—he wanted to meet as many key people as possible.
All of this was totally against what the magician expected. He didn’t plan to let the demon walk around and be seen by everyone, he only wanted him to fight the elgur. For that, none of this publicity was necessary. Granted, Kagarlak did a great job getting rid of Tarres—but Henky-Roo could have done it himself, had he known the astonishing information the demon used. Why hadn’t he shared it?... He should have, rather than leave it to Henky-Roo to come up with a plan against Tarres and then yell at him for failing!
“Are you coming or not?!” came the demon’s furious voice. “I am waiting!”
“Yes, my lord, I am almost there…”
The magician took the last several steps and climbed onto the tower top, panting. It was cold and windy up here; the demon didn’t care, but Henky-Roo wished he had taken his warm cloak.
“What is it, my lord? What truth would you like to share?”
Kagarlak stood in the middle of the tower top, his hands on his hips.
“The truth is,” he said, approaching with a hellish grin, “the truth is that I don’t need you anymore.”
With that, he snatched the amulet off the magician’s neck and pushed him over the rail.
***
Farizel entered the king’s study and placed the adoption papers on Alvard’s desk.
“Your Majesty, I respectfully ask that you allow me to see my son.”
Alvard gave him a puzzled look, then regarded the papers.
“So that’s why you went to the judge… Hm… That’s a strong measure. I see you are ready to do anything to save your friend.”
“My son,” Farizel emphasized.
Alvard smiled coldly. “Very well—your son, if you wish. But that doesn’t change anything. Be he your friend or your son, that man is a traitor, and he belongs in jail. Drop it, Farizel—unless you want me to think that you were also involved, and now are trying to cover up for him.”
Farizel looked the king in the eye. “You know that is not true.”
“Yes, I know. But you will make me wonder if you persist.”
“Is this a threat, Your Majesty?”
“It’s a warning.”
Farizel was about to give a sharp comment, but Tarres’ life was at stake, so he stopped himself.
“All I ask is to see him,” he said. “As his father, I do have that right. Is this too big of a request?”
“It is, because you will not stop there. He will tell you more lies and persuade you of his innocence—and you will come back to me, asking that I release him.”
“No, Your Majesty. I will come and share what I find out. Then it will be up to you to decide what to do.”
“I have already decided. And yes, you have been quite successful at convincing me and even making me change my decisions, but there is a limit to everything. It is not going to happen again. You will no longer manipulate me.”
Farizel shook his head. It was worse than he thought. Manipulate—that’s what it was about. Alvard wanted to prove his sovereignty. Someone must have hinted to him that he was too prone to Farizel’s influence. It had happened before.
“If you call honest advice manipulation, Your Majesty, then I guess I am guilty. Yet I don’t recall ever trying to force my opinions on you.”
“Isn’t that what you are trying to do now?”
“I don’t think so. I am searching for the truth. It’s not just about Tarres, though I do admit I find it hard to believe that he is a traitor—it’s about knowing what’s going on and whom to trust.”
“Then you don’t need to worry; I want the same thing. But I will do it my way.”
Farizel remained silent. It felt hopeless. Whoever sold Alvard this treason idea, they did a good job.
“Take these,” Alvard said, handing him the adoption papers. “You don’t want to forget them here.”
Farizel took the documents.
“Your Majesty mentioned covering up,” he said. “I want to confess that once I did cover up for Tarres. It was when he came in your bedroom and stopped your pain. Yes, it was him, and I knew it. You owe him your health, Your Majesty.”
He expected the king to be surprised and demand proof, but that didn’t happen. Alvard gave him a long, narrow look, then curved his lips in disdain.
“This is the first time I have caught you lying to me, Farizel. I didn’t think you would go that far.”
“Lying?!” Farizel exclaimed, indignant.
“I know who cured me—and I’m glad I do, because I probably would have believed you. I’m not going to tell you how I know, and I do not wish to continue this conversation. Go, Farizel. Leave before I have lost the rest of my respect for you.”
Farizel looked at the king for another moment, his gray eyes flashing with anger, then made a sharp turn and stormed out.
“That’s some loyalty,” Alvard mused after the door slammed closed behind the lord. “I wish somebody was that loyal to me… I guess I’ll have to keep a better eye on him now; there’s no telling what else he will do.”
He paused, thinking.
“I wonder whom I can trust enough with this job. Everyone nearly worships him, there is no guarantee they won’t take his side… Ah, there is one person. That one will do his best, I can be sure of that.”
He rang his bell, calling the butler.
“Bring General Traun here. Tell him it’s urgent.”
***
Jeco sat on the straw pallet in his cell, silently gazing at the stone wall before him. He had spent enough time here to figure some things out. The black-haired man who interrogated him in front of the king had to be some kind of a sorcerer—that was the only way he could find out about his mission and about Telm. Henky-Roo was there as well, so they must be working together.
The more Jeco thought about it the better he saw that he should have been expecting something like this; with a magician in the palace, the Darkness would have made its move sooner or later. The battle continued, and he seemed to be right in the middle of it. Had he done what he was supposed to? Could he still save his mission or did he ruin it? The question wouldn’t leave his mind.
When he was brought here, two people tried to interrogate him—Sholler, the warden, and another man, a grim-faced fellow with a shaven head. Sholler was stern, but relatively polite; the shaven one was rude and impatient. When Jeco refused to answer their questions, he threatened to whip him until he spoke. Sholler had soon left, having instructed the shaven one to “try reasoning first,” and to call him if the prisoner changed his mind.
The man wasn’t good at reasoning. He told Jeco that the king didn’t have time to speak to him personally but was expecting the interrogation records, so he’d better talk. After Jeco refused again, the shaven one went back to yelling and threatening. Then something had happened. Mr. Sholler returned, looking rather confused. He called the shaven one and whispered something into his ear.
The man gaped at him, incredulous.
“What?!”
“Yes,” the warden nodded.
“Then how am I supposed to interrogate?!”
“I’ve warned you.”
The warden walked out, and Jeco hadn’t heard another threat after that. Unaware of Farizel’s short visit, he didn’t know what to think of it.
The shaven one swore—to himself, not at Jeco—then attempted to continue the questioning, but soon lost what was left of his patience and stormed out of the cell.
“Let him do it himself!” Jeco heard him grumble. “I’m not playing this game!”
The boy was left alone. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed; probably several hours. He spent them praying and thinking. Was this the end of his mission? Had he failed? Going through everything that had happened to him at the palace, day by day, Jeco was trying to find any wrong step he had possibly made or any missed opportunity he could have used to accomplish what he was sent here for. As he looked back, he clearly saw the guiding hand of the heavens. Getting permission to attend the library, meeting Lord Farizel, being promoted, educated, and even meeting the king—one thing led to another, everything seemed to be going just right. And then, within moments, the mysterious dark-skinned baron brought it all down.
Jeco looked at the cell door. Where were his interrogators? Had they forgotten about him?
He hoped that it wasn’t the end. He had seen hopeless situations being turned around before.
***
Farizel went to the park and roamed through the snow-covered alleys, angry, frustrated, insulted. There was no doubt someone was plotting around, and he had no idea of who the enemy was or what they wanted. It seemed they were after him; they had already tried to destroy him sending that fake letter. Thanks to the black knight, he avoided the trap. Yet he wasn’t the only target; somehow, he felt that Tarres’ arrest was a part of the same scheme.
Some other time, he would have developed a clever counter-attack, tracked the enemy down and dealt with them, depending on what their goal was—but now his major concern was saving Jecosan Tarres. The boy knew something important, that’s why they removed him and worked so hard to keep him behind bars—or see him executed.
“I guess I still haven’t played all my cards,” Farizel said to himself, stopping. “Oh, you are not going to like this one, Your Majesty, but, well, I don’t care.”
He turned around and walked to the stable.
He knew he was being watched. He had known it before, though the king thought he didn’t, and Farizel saw no need to reassure him. But today Alvard clearly showed that he was already aware of Farizel’s visit to the judge, as if to give a warning, to let him know that his every step was being reported.
That was nice of him. I will keep it in mind.
He entered the stable. Immediately, two stablemen were at his side, ready to serve.
“Good evening, Your Lordship! What horse would you like today? Star is available, and so is White Eagle, and General.”
“No, none of those,” Farizel replied. “I haven’t decided yet. I think I will walk around some and pick a horse myself. Can I do that?”
“Certainly, Your Lordship. Just let us know when you are ready, and we’ll saddle it for you.”
“Thank you.”
He walked unhurriedly along the stalls, stopping once in a while to pet the horses reaching out to him. Stablemen were running back and forth carrying saddles, brushes, buckets of water and bundles of hay, busy with their work. They all bowed to Farizel, and he would respond each time with a nod, continuing on his way. This was one of the reasons he was so admired: he never thought it below himself to return greetings to servants, no matter how simple their rank was.
Farizel halted as he saw Captain Sard in the inner yard of the stable. Leaning against the wooden rails, the young man was waiting for a beautiful white stallion to be saddled for him. Instead of his uniform, he wore a gray riding suit and a dark-brown cloak embroidered with a modest but elegant ornament.
How fortunate, Farizel thought, approaching.
“Good evening, Captain Sard.”
The young man turned around and straightened his back, his face brightening up.
“Your Lordship! You remember my name?!”
“Of course I do. Are you going for a ride?”
“Yes. I am off duty tonight, and I thought I would spend a few hours racing with the wind.”
“That’s very enjoyable,” Farizel nodded. “And the weather is good for it… You’ve got a very nice cloak, Captain. Is the embroidery custom-ordered?”
The young man smiled, embarrassed. “It is. I chose the pattern myself… being guided not so much by fashion and style as by my modest finances.”
“Well, accept my congratulations: it turned out very well. Not that I am a fashion expert, but I can assure you that this cloak is worthy of a nobleman.”
“You are too kind, Your Lordship… It can’t even be compared to yours.”
Farizel pulled off his splendid blue cloak and gave it an evaluating look.
“You think? If you ask me, yours is much better. Would you like to trade me?”
The captain gaped at him, stunned. “Are you serious?!”
Farizel shrugged. “Absolutely. Why not? The size should be about the same.”
“But your cloak costs at least twice that much!”
“That doesn’t mean anything, if you like it. Well?”
The young man hesitantly accepted the cloak, took off his own and handed it to Farizel. Farizel put it over his shoulders.
“Yes, it fits me just right… Why don’t you try yours, Captain? It should look very well together with your gray riding suit. But you no longer need your brown hat, of course—just like I no longer need a blue one. We’ll have to trade our hats as well!”
“Your Lordship is too generous… I feel like I’m robbing you,” the captain said, taking his richly decorated hat.
“On the contrary, you are doing me a big favor,” Farizel objected, “and I appreciate it.”
The captain looked at him for a few moments, his expression puzzled.
“If so, I am always happy to be of service,” he bowed.
A stableman led the white stallion to them.
“Your horse is ready, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The captain jumped into the saddle.
“Have a nice ride, Captain Sard,” Farizel said. “And a fast one. You said you enjoy riding fast?”
“Oh yes, Your Lordship. And with such a great horse, no one will be able to keep up with me.”
Farizel smiled. “Very good.”
The captain saluted to him and spurred the stallion. Farizel stood there, watching the horseman in the rich blue cloak cross the yard, fly over a haystack, and gallop to the gates. Almost immediately two other horsemen followed him, keeping a safe distance.
There we go. Farizel smiled, looking at them. Have a nice chase, gentlemen.
He put on the captain’s hat, straightened the cloak on his shoulders and called one of the stablemen.
“Would you please saddle this little gray horse for me? She seems to be quiet and nice. What is her name?
“Ladybird, Your Lordship. She is very calm and well-trained.”
“Just what I need today,” Farizel nodded. “I want to take a break from Star’s hot temper.”
In a couple of minutes the horse was ready.
“May I take one of these?” Farizel asked, pointing at a stack of empty sacks.
“Certainly, Your Lordship, let me get it for you.”
The stableman picked one and handed it to the lord.
“Thank you.”
Farizel swung into the saddle and rode away.
It was already dark when he reached Devron woods. Thankfully, the moon and the stars shone brightly, their pale yellow light sparkling in the snow and illuminating the road. Farizel had no idea how he would look for the black knight, except for going to the ravine where the horseman had stopped both squads. It probably made little sense to think that the knight would be there; yet, if his guess was correct, Farizel was almost certain he’d find him.
He rode along, staying close to the side of the road and listening to every sound. The forest was still full of soldiers, he could bump into them any minute. He should be able to hear them first; his own horse was not making much noise, its hoofs wrapped with sackcloth. He did that as soon as he entered the forest.
“Good evening, Lord Farizel,” he suddenly heard. “You wanted to see me?”
Farizel pulled on the reins, startled. The black horseman stood just across the road, next to a large pine tree, both him and his horse perfectly still, blending with the dark background of the forest. No wonder Farizel hadn’t noticed him.
“…Well, yes,” Farizel said, still quite surprised. “I was on my way to the ravine, looking for you.”
“There are soldiers half a mile ahead, so I thought I would meet you here. I am at your service.”
Farizel gathered his thoughts. “I think I know who you are, Knight. And if I am right, you can save Jecosan Tarres.”
“I can,” the black horseman nodded. “And I will.”
Farizel was somewhat caught off guard again. His request was granted to him before he presented it.
“…That was easier than I thought,” he said. “I was going to bargain with you. I was going to say that I’d pledge my allegiance to the Light if you save him.”
The knight smiled. “I am not the one to bargain with about such things. You’d have to go higher than that.”
Farizel smiled in return, feeling his muscles relax as the huge weight was taken off his shoulders. Tarres was going to be all right.
“I don’t know how you will do it, but, please, hurry,” he said. “Soon it may be too late.”
“I know. I will release him this night.”
“You don’t need me to tell you where he is and how to get there, do you?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” Farizel was silent for a few moments. “Is it true that Tarres was somehow connected with you?”
“Not while he served at the palace. He is not a spy.”
Farizel had always known it deep down in his heart, but he was still relieved.
“I knew it,” he said. “I knew he could not be a traitor... So what will you do when you get him out? He can’t stay in the palace—or in Kanavar, for that matter.”
“Neither can you.”
Farizel raised his eyebrows. “Me?... Why?”
“The king will think that you organized Tarres’s escape. If he finds out that you came here to see me, you will lose your life.”
“He will not find out. I made sure I was not being followed. Unless I meet somebody on my way back, no one knows I was here.”
The black knight looked at him, as if considering how much he should tell.
“You’ve got a new enemy, Lord Farizel, a very strong one. He does not need to follow you to know where you are. Don’t ask me how, I cannot go into details. You are correct suspecting that the letter you had received and Tarres’ arrest are a part of the same conspiracy. The enemy had been trying to get rid of you both working through one of his servants; he failed, so he arrived to the palace himself. It happened yesterday. Soon, the whole palace will be under his control.”
Farizel listened, astonished.
“Then I must stop him! Tell me who he is and what I must do.”
“You can’t stop him, Lord Farizel. You have already done what you could.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“I suggest that you go with us.”
Farizel thought he misheard him.
“You want me to leave the palace at such a critical time?”
“You will only lose your life if you stay. And you will lose it for nothing.”
The lord remained silent for some time, thinking.
“What is going to happen to the king? And to Meoria?”
“Exactly what I had warned about. Great disasters are coming—the price for the king’s stubbornness.”
“Isn’t it cowardly on my part to leave, then?”
“No.”
Farizel thought some more. “I don’t see how it’s not.”
“You will be able to do more if you stay alive, don’t you think?”
“Well, yes. Especially if I stick with you, I guess.”
The black horseman smiled. “Now you’re talking.”
Farizel sighed. “All right. All right, you have convinced me. It looks like it’s time for me to move on; I have always felt that such a moment may come. But I still have to go back to the palace. I’ve got some documents, letters… I must take care of them before I leave.”
“You can do that, but do it as quick as possible. Do not stay there till the morning. My presence will neutralize the enemy, but it will only last several hours. If you don’t make it out during that time, he will get you. Now, let me tell you how you will find us. Go to the city, to the Horseshoe Inn, the one next to the blacksmith’s shop at Marketplace Street. Find Dalian Veligor; he is an old friend of Jecosan. If you come there before we do, tell him everything and wait for us.”
***
It didn’t take Farizel long to sort out his archives. He always had his papers in order, so he knew right away what could go and what should be kept. Going through his desk drawers, he threw most of the documents into the fireplace, leaving only a few, which he tucked in the inner pocket of his vest. When he was done with that, he sat down and picked up a quill.
Your Majesty, he wrote. What has happened today shows that I have lost your trust, which makes my further service to you impossible. I would like to assure you that I did not lie to you, but I see no way to prove it. Therefore, I am relieving you from my now useless presence. Sincerely Yours, Farizel.
He folded the letter, put it into an envelope, signed To His Majesty and left it on the desk. The thought of writing a note for the princess as well crossed his mind, but he figured it would never get to her. Alvard was going to be too mad to allow that.
Farizel rose and checked whether the papers in the fireplace burned. They were already gone; a black pile of ashes was all that was left. He unlocked the smallest desk drawer and took all the money that was in there, as well as a few pieces of jewelry.
“And the last thing.”
Farizel went to the coffee table with some fruit and several bottles of wine on it, picked up one of the bottles and filled a glass. Then he opened a small paper packet he had ready and poured some white powder from it into the glass. Having stirred the wine with a silver spoon and made sure the powder dissolved, Farizel rang the bell. Within seconds, Marias was at the door.
“Come here, Marias,” Farizel called him.
The butler took a few steps and stood in front of his master, waiting for orders with his usual courtesy. Farizel handed him the full glass.
“Drink this. But not all of it.”
Asking no questions and showing no surprise, Marias accepted the glass, drank half of it and looked Farizel in the eye.
“The wine has strange taste, Your Lordship. What’s in it?”
“Sedative. You will now sit on a chair, and I will tie you up. In five minutes or so you will fall asleep. When I turn out missing tomorrow morning, no one will be able to accuse you of helping me to get away.”
Marias’ expression hadn’t changed; calm and serious, he kept looking at Farizel for another moment. These two people had been together for several years yet rarely talked longer than for five minutes and never bared their souls; nevertheless, they perfectly understood each other and didn’t need long explanations.
“Your Lordship is leaving the palace?” the butler asked plainly.
“Yes, Marias. And secretly, as you can see.”
“I must say that I’ve got special instructions for that: I must immediately notify the king and the chief of the guard…” Marias smiled. “What chair should I take?”
“This one,” Farizel pointed, pulling out a long rope. “Thank you, Marias. And forgive me for having to treat you like this.”
“You could have treated me much worse, Your Lordship,” Marias spoke while being tied to the tall armchair back. “So it is I who must be thankful. What should I say tomorrow during the interrogation?”
“Tell them what happened: I came home late, locked myself up in my study, then invited you in and offered you a glass of wine. Then you sat in this chair…”
“And I don’t remember anything after that,” Marias finished.
Farizel chuckled. “We make a good pair, don’t we?”
“This is the best compliment I have ever heard, Your Lordship.”
Farizel tightened the knot and checked the rope, making sure it was not hurting the man.
“Good bye, my good Marias. Who knows whether we’ll ever see each other again.”
The butler didn’t respond. He was sound asleep.
***