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A THROBBING PRICE TO pay, but the busted nose, swollen eyes, and split lip he bore might give Jareth freedom, and so he suffered the pain quietly while the woman servant nursed his wounds with a wet cloth. She brought clean clothes for him and after combing the dirt and grime out of his hair, she took up her wash basin, bowed and left him to dress.
Bowed?
Jareth chuckled at his predicament. Still not a free man—he had yet to convince the king of his innocence—but what the Koladans did to him was a decent testimony to his allegiance, regardless of how bad his head hurt.
When the guards came for him before dawn, he stood—concealing his smile. He’d never met a king before and secretly wished that the circumstances were different, and that Lorica were here to join him.
Despite the fresh tunic and overcoat given him, he felt undressed once he stepped through the castle doors. The corridor shone brilliantly in the lantern light, and a hint of morning colors peeked through the skylights above. Scaffolds had been erected in one of the rooms where windows were open and fresh lumber, as well as chiseled stone, awaited their part in the reconstruction of the grand hall. The guards led him on past armor displays to an open double door. For a moment, Jareth had a challenging time focusing, but once his eyes became accustomed to the glimmer of gold statuettes and crystal chandeliers, he noticed the king sitting on his throne. Relaxed, the monarch seemed to have been sleeping up until the moment Jareth entered.
The guard bowed and nudged Jareth to his knees.
“The prisoner, Vasil,” the soldier by the king’s side mumbled.
“This is the one I was telling you about.” Commander Neal stepped out of the shadows from behind the king. “He claims he is not an insurrectionist.”
“Don’t they all when the hour of judgment comes?” King Barin asked with a yawn. “What do you have to say for yourself, prisoner? Where do you come from if not from the rebellious hollows of Kolada?”
“I and my wife and two children live in Tuluva, Vasil,” Jareth said, still on one knee.
“Tuluva?” the king asked. “Are the peasants as furious in Tuluva as they are in Kolada? Kayden tells me someone is stealing children and the lords in the northland are letting it happen. I’ve yet to believe him. Perhaps you can verify his story.” The king scoffed, rose with a leap, and paced on his dais. “Are they stealing the children in Tuluva, too?”
“No, Vasil,” Jareth whispered, unsure as to whether the king wanted an answer or not.
“No? Then what is the problem? Why did you leave Tuluva? You traveled a long way, and left your family at home? Was that wise if these rumors of black magic and child thieves are true? How did you come to be arrested with a ruthless gang of rioters in Kolada?”
Jareth, confused at the king’s form of questioning, wet his lips, and glanced at the man standing behind the throne. The king’s brilliant blue eyes were fixed on him. He wore a simple tunic and black trousers, not an elegant costume typical of a king. His hair, the color of honey, flowed to his shoulders, and his complexion was dark, as if he had been outside in the weather.
A stream of sweat dripped down Jareth’s forehead, for he didn’t know what sort of fate awaited him. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Vasil. I traveled to Kolada to enlist with your army so that I might pay the new tax the baron of Ogress imposed on us. When I arrived, your men had already confronted the rebels. My companion and I climbed onto a rooftop to see if we could help your soldiers and when I eyed the rebels hiding in the cottage across the way, I sent a flaming arrow to burn them out.”
“A flaming arrow?” King Barin interrupted. “How did you come by such a thing if you were on a rooftop?”
Jareth stuttered. “My friend is a wizard,” he whispered and hung his head when the king laughed.
“A fairy tale, now, have we?”
“Vasil,” the commander said. “He must have lit his arrow somehow. If not this man, then someone else.”
The king grunted, folded his hands behind his back and stared at the floor for a moment.
“Very well. I’ll assume you’re telling me the truth. They say magic is prevalent in the northern cities. I would like to see some of this magic. Perhaps you can summon this friend of yours to testify on your behalf?” King Barin asked.
“I don’t know where he is,” Jareth answered.
Jareth held his breath as the king paced again. His stories seemed contrived, even to himself, yet they were true. But this monarch must think he’s a liar, or daft.
“Stand,” the king ordered. “What did you say your name was?”
“Jareth, my lord.”
“Stand, Jareth. I want to see your face. I can tell if a man is lying by looking into his eyes. It’s not hard. It’s not even magic!”
Jareth stood and breathed in deeply. “I am not lying, Vasil,” he said.
King Barin stepped off the dais and when he stood in front of Jareth, their eyes locked, drawn to the innermost thoughts of one another. The King had no deception in his eyes, no spite, nothing Jareth could read as evil. Though he had a brief career, he was known for his just and honorable reputation. Jareth hoped he would see the same qualities in him.
“Who is this wizard? Was he captured with you?”
“No. He disappeared.”
King Barin chuckled and glanced at the commander. “Disappeared?” He shook his head when he turned to face Jareth again. “We have a wizard in our court, and I’ve never known him to disappear.”
“There was a lot of commotion, Barin,” the commander said. “I saw no one else with this man, but I wasn’t the one who apprehended him, either. His friend may have slipped away unnoticed. It wouldn’t be impossible.”
King Barin nodded and spoke softly. “Tell me, Jareth. Why were you with a wizard?”
Jareth sighed. It was a difficult story, personal, and involved his son. Neither he nor his wife told anyone about Crispin’s affliction for fear they’d be ostracized, or worse, for fear Crispin would be considered mad and branded. He bowed his head and lowered his voice. “My son has seizures, and when he does, a spirit appears,” he mumbled.
“A spirit? You’ve seen it?”
“As a vapor at first and then it takes the form of another being.”
The king frowned and lifted his chin. The intensity by which he listened sent a chill down Jareth’s spine. What would he do? How dangerous would it be to tell his family’s secret? Yet Jareth stood before the king of a great nation. He couldn’t lie.
“The night I met Chase...”
“Chase? The wizard?”
“Yes. My son had a seizure, and I scared the spirit out of him. I followed the fiend to a widow’s shed in the forest and therein I found a portal in the floorboards of the home. The spirit fled through the hatchway, and I followed. I found myself in the Neverworld.”
“The Neverworld? Are you sure?”
“I stake my life on it. It was an abyss saturated with sorcery. Darkness and evil inundated every breath I took. There I met this man tied and bound in a cell that had been rusting away. He told me to leave before the portal shut me in. I freed him before I left. I couldn’t leave a man tied in such a dungeon.”
Whether the king believed him or not, Jareth couldn’t tell but he had to finish his story lest he be misunderstood.
“I asked him to accompany me to Ogress because my wife was afraid of him. She feared he would come to our home and steal our children or put a curse on them. She feared he might have something to do with our son’s affliction.”
“I see,” King Barin whispered. “A family man,” He regarded Jareth’s continence. “Two children?”
“Yes, Vasil.”
“I have no children. No wife. If I did, I would be careful where I traveled, and what sort of companions I picked up along the way. Especially if they came from the Neverworld.”
“Yes, Vasil.”
The king turned from him and stepped up his dais. The softness in his voice left him as he changed the subject.
“My commander says there was a scuffle in the gateway. The other prisoners attacked you. Those bruises on your face—did you strike back?”
“A couple of times before they had me on the ground.”
The king grunted. “What was that about?”
Jareth glanced at the commander, but the tall middle-aged officer said nothing.
“They were angry that I had sought to join your army.”
“I see. And so, in Kolada you had no part in attacking my men?”
“On the contrary, I want to fight for you. I’ve been a mercenary all my life.”
The king’s glare was intimidating. “Why now? Why do you suddenly show up in Kolada on the day my army is being attacked?”
Jareth shrugged. “Coincidence?”
“Coincidence, or was it planned?”
“The Baron of Ogress had infringed a heavy duty on our village and to keep my wife and children from punishment I needed to earn more than what raising goats provides. I had to find a war, but I would never cause one.”
“Interesting. Very well. I’ll consider your plea, Jareth.”
King Barin signaled to the guards. “Take him away. Don’t return him to the gateway though. Keep him somewhere separate from the other prisoners until I learn the truth.”
#
With the door to the throne room shut, Barin nodded to Neal to follow him to his table. It was at this table he and Neal shared the intimacy of their offices. A king and his commander, his counselor, and his best friend. He poured wine into two chalices and held one up for Neal.
“I can’t avoid Lord Sylvester any longer. I need Kayden’s help. If I go there with these people still in chains, the Koladans will revolt and attack us before we get to Sylvester’s castle. If I ride with them unbound, they could easily try an escape. In either case there would be bloodshed. I have no desire to kill any of our own people.”
“What do you propose?” Neal took a seat across from Barin.
Barin sipped his wine and savored the calming effect it had on his body, as if a taste of the vineyard was all he needed to make a true and just decision. Fortunately, Barin was not a drunkard, nor inattentive. Aware of the lure to be lost in its pleasures, Barin set his chalice on the table and let the heat of the drink settle his nerves.
“I’m not sure, Neal,” he said. “I’d like to negotiate with the prisoners. Offer them a healthy meal, a little wine, and convince them I’m on their side.” He looked to Neal for an opinion. The commander shook his head.
“They hate castles and noblemen, more so kings. I fear a man who sets his mind against tyranny will consider anyone wealthier than he a tyrant.”
“Are the peasants of Kolada oppressed? What did you see when you were there? What condition is the fortress in? How do the people live?”
Neal rubbed the edge of his chalice with his thumb, slow to speak. “They live poorly. It’s obvious the people are barely getting by. There’s no reason for it. Lord Sylvester has the best horses in the countryside. Some say he even trades with Casdamia. He’s a wealthy man, and yet the serfs and peasants see none of that wealth, from what I observed. A huge wall surrounds the city that wasn’t there two years ago. If I were an outsider looking in, I would say the man is building himself a little empire. He has an army, but, as Kayden says, his troops stayed away when we were attacked, and I got the feeling they wouldn’t be disheartened if the townspeople killed us and we them. I’m sure they rejoiced when we captured Kayden’s men and left. What’s certain is, not one bloody soldier of Sylvester’s came to our defense.”
Barin pondered this while staring into the blood-red liquid of his wine. There would be a war and people would die. He could see it coming.
“There’s one other thing,” Neal added as he inhaled. “When passing through the outskirts of Ogress my men were told of an insurrection there, as well. It seems children there are being stolen also—taken away, disappearing, and the baron does nothing about it. The people swear magic is involved.”
“Magic?”
Neal nodded. “They say magic affects the children. They have seizures or turn against their parents, and then the next thing they know, the child is gone.”
Barin contemplated those rumors with great concern, mindful of his nephew. But he needed more information before he could conclude that magic influenced Maurice’s affliction. Seizures were common among children, and they often grew out of them. His nephew could simply have a childhood illness.
“That brings us to our other prisoner. The one whose bolt was supposedly lit by magic.”
“Jareth?”
Barin nodded, sighed, and leaned back in his chair waiting for Neal’s opinion.
“I believe him, Barin. It all happened too fast. There were no fires before that house went up in flames.”
“You believe his story about his son?”
“It’s not implausible. And if I were you, I would investigate further seeing as your own nephew has suddenly been afflicted with seizures.”
Barin paused and searched Neal’s eyes. The seriousness of what he said took hold. “We should wait. It could be nothing.”
“You asked for my opinion, and I spoke it. I think what has happened to Jareth’s boy is similar to what is happening to Maurice. After learning other children in the kingdom are experiencing the same...” he gestured with his hand as if he wasn’t sure what to call it, "...disease, I think you’d do your family a favor to investigate. But then, I’m just a soldier, Barin, not a king.”
“You’re more than a soldier, Neal. You’re my best friend. Sometimes my only friend.” The wine eased the tension in his body as he finished it. A bittersweet taste lingered on his tongue. He had a decision to make with crucial consequences should it be the wrong one.
What to do with the prisoners?
“I want to keep those men locked away until I know more,” he whispered. “I’m not ready to turn them loose.”