Rian and Chan were turning to leave the high roof of the Rose Chapel when the door behind them swung open and Tristan and Silk joined them. Sparrow followed behind the two.
Silk said, “We need to mount a rescue mission! Prince Corin has been abducted!”
Watch horns sounded from the city walls.
Arrrroo! Arrrooo! Arrrooooo!
Rian and his four companions froze, listening intently.
Arrrrooo! Arrrrooo!
Tristan pointed to the thick clouds of mist gathering beneath the forest three hundred yards beyond the walls of Brystyn. Sparks of multicolored lights appeared there in the swirling fog, blue, green, red, and purple. Each brightly colored spark soon coalesced into globes of glowing light.
To Rian, it was a scene out of a childhood fairy tale as the bright spheres illuminated the whirling mist. There were thousands of them, each growing brighter as they turned into lamps that shone on either side of the door posts of the painted wagons emerging from the thick fog.
“Gypsies!” Tristan said. “Come down out of the highlands! Now gathering out there in the Blackwood!”
Arroooo! Aroooo!
The deep bass sounds carried all over the city.
Arrrrrooo! Arrrrooo! Arrrroo!
The sound went on, lasting a good five minutes as the main courtyard filled up with horsemen. The four of them watched as King Mandan, Prince Daggan, and a twelve-man contingent of guardsmen rode into the courtyard. A moment later, Captain Morgan Rivers rode in behind them. The entire company dismounted before the closed and locked gate. Daggan reached the ramparts first. “Stop that!” he roared, slamming a fist into the side of the hapless watchman’s head. “One more note from that infernal horn and I’ll shove it up your ass and bugger you to death with it!”
Morgan, three steps behind the prince, helped the dazed man to his feet, then followed the direction of his gesturing hand as he waved it toward the Gypsy wagons situated between the trees.
King Mandan, a big man with a golden mane of hair, stood there, an angry scowl on his face. He was tall with broad shoulders, a thick chest, and muscular arms. He glared at the forest of trees shrouded by the white mist. “They send an envoy!” he said. “We shall see what he has to say!”
All of those standing on the high walls stared down at the lone rider swiftly approaching Brystyn’s main gate. The rider’s black hair flowed over his shoulders like a dark cape blowing in the wind as he rode. Twenty feet from the closed gate, he jerked gently on his reins, bringing his white steed skidding to a stop. He was a man of middle age, and his twin braids encased a darkly tanned, black-bearded face. He was clad in black and red leathers that fit his lean frame like a second skin. The hilts of two short swords could be seen at either of his shoulders.
The tall, broad-shouldered man spoke boldly to the king, saying, “I am Dax Storm, Captain of Raven Company. I’ve been sent to inform you there is trouble coming. The Scartans literally flood the highlands, creating a swath of slaughter throughout the dales, the glens, and the river lands of Brystyn.”
He paused, gauging the king’s reaction to his words. Mandan simply glared at him.
Dax Storm peered up at the battlements, searching for a look of sympathy or at least concern at this news he’d delivered. But upon the faces of the king and his son, he saw stern, cold stares and knew at once he would get no help from this pair.
“We seek haven,” he said. “This Scartan horde follows close behind us, and High Chieftain Kaladan would beseech the King of Brystyn to open his gates to us, that we may obtain not only shelter and safety from the danger that approaches, but also join you as allies. The Scarts have united under one banner, and they mass in the thousands. They are riding here even now. Kaladan would ask—”
“The Chief Hound,” thundered Mandan, a fire raging his cobalt blue eyes, “sends his hired mercenary mongrel to treat with me? Gypsy protocol is lacking!”
Prince Daggan spat, “Gypsies! A curse and a pox upon the realm!”
Mandan kept his eyes fixed on the hundreds of Gypsy wagons situated along the tree line. “What makes Kaladan think these Scarts pose a threat to my city? Could it be the unified tribes of the Scartans are targeting only Gypsy-born to purge and cleanse the dales and glens of the highlands?”
“Perhaps,” Dax said. “If that is so, then they are not limiting their attacks on Gypsies alone. I had heard that just this night Eldwood Keep was nearly overrun by a remnant of this horde. And the villages of Shockton, Lazlo’s Dale, and Troutbrook are no more. All of their citizens have been slaughtered, their buildings burned, the surrounding farmsteads destroyed.”
King Mandan shouted, “Bah! Why bring your troubles to my doorstep, mongrel?”
Dax’s bearded face darkened, but the High Chieftain had sent him to treat cordially with the Viper of Brystyn, and he meant to keep his tongue civil.
“Kaladan,” he said, keeping his voice steady, “believes you and he share a common enemy. The Wizards of the Scartans are a savage lot. They are even more dangerous now that they have allied themselves with a large pack of savage beasts, King Mandan.”
Mandan seemed taken back that the merc leader so insolently used his name, but it was Daggan who addressed his breach of protocol, snarling, “Stupid shit! You are supposed to say ‘my lord’ or ‘Your Highness’ when speaking to the king! All the manners of a backwoods pissant!”
Dax looked to Prince Daggan with a spark of anger in his dark eyes. Morgan asked, “Pack of savage beasts, Captain Storm? I am Morgan Rivers, Chief Marshall of the Home Guard, and I need to know about any threats to the city. Bears? Wolves? Swamp Cats from the lower Fife? If they come here, what can we expect?”
“Feral beasts,” Dax said. “Hybrid creatures, a cross between the white apes of the Summer Country and the baboons of the Kendan Plains. In their fangs and claws there is a terrible poison that kills any who fall victim to their attacks. Those who have not been killed outright by the foul beasts have died an agonizing slow death due to this venomous poison. Also they are very hard to kill. It is said that steel alone barely fazes them.”
He looked up directly at King Mandan as he added, “However, the enchanted blades of the Fairis Dayan have proven to be a most formidable weapon against these white-furred, baboon-faced beasts. Kaladan would urge you, Your Highness, to send for the help of the Fairis of the Vale of Seven Rivers.”
Mandan and Daggan both spat at the same time, “Elves!”
“What shall I tell Kaladan?” Dax asked, looking up at King Mandan.
“Tell him,” shouted Prince Daggan, “to go bugger those white apes you speak of! They sound like the furry sort Gypsy-born consort with! You will find our gates are closed to you and your kind!”
Dax turned his white steed around, setting his sights on the Gypsy wagons filling the gaps between the trees ahead. He glanced back at the battlements of Brystyn.
There, some ways down the wall from the main gateway, stood Rian Blackthorn on the rooftop of the chapel. A troubled look dominated his face as he looked to the many Gypsy wagons filling the gaps between the trees. And beside him, to Dax’s great surprise, stood his son Tristan.
Dax wheeled his steed around and rode to a spot on the greenway that placed him even with the well-known swordmaster. Rian glanced down at the merc leader as he spoke in rather gruff tones, “Son, though you have greatly disappointed me for coming here without my leave, if you could secure a commitment from Blackthorn to attend the council, I will readily forgive you.”
Fixing Rian in his steady gaze, Dax said, “Our hospitality awaits you, Blackthorn. Come and listen to Chieftain Kaladan’s words. A terrible war is coming to this realm, and we need allies like you to stand beside us.”
Rian offered the merc leader a cordial nod. “Tell the High Chieftain that this night I must see to other matters. Not meaning to be rude, but I will ride out to your camp as soon as I am able, Dax Storm.”
Dax seemed pleased. He turned and rode off, fast becoming a white blur as his swiftly moving steed merged with the thick white mist roiling across the greenway.