Chapter 2
Hiro squinted along the edge of the bow, carefully moving his aim a touch to the left. Arms trembling with exertion, he still stopped to taste the wind. Southerly, if he was any judge. Finally, he released his grip on the bow-string, eagerly following the line of the arrow.
As the arrow thudded into the target, a slow smile spread across Hiro's face. It had been an excellent shot, only slightly off-center. A smattering of applause began then, and Hiro turned to the onlookers, shaking hands. As he approached the undeniably elegant knight, Lupo, the beastman feigned a yawn.
"Very nice, I'm sure." Hiro ignored the deliberately dry tone and shouldered his way past Lupo. As a new knight and a frequenter of Old Vyk's, he was, of course, acquainted with Lupo, but he had never cared overmuch for the snide beastman. Unfortunately, he was not to be freed from Lupo's company quite that easily.
With his long legs, the beastman had no trouble keeping pace with Hiro's stride. "I must say that I'm somewhat surprised. I would have thought you'd be interested in your father's disappearance."
Several retorts came to mind, but Hiro resolved to keep silent. There was no point in dignifying Lupo's comments. Lupo went on easily, "But then, I suppose Baron Vyrun hasn't authorized you for anything, and we all jump at the good Baron's command."
Pressing his lips together, Hiro stalked into the tavern. Vyk looked up, "Har, har," he chuckled. "That was a good shot lad, or so they tell me. Drink on the house!"
Hiro nodded happily and seated himself, a foaming mug of beer quickly in his hand. Another of the regulars, Gatt by name, swung around barking drunken laughter. "Hah! Good shot? I'll show you a good shot you miserable…" he hiccupped and seemed at a loss to finish his sentence.
Hiro also ignored that. Gatt was a foolish, bitter person, and there had never been any point in talking to him. There was even less point now that Baron Vyrun had fired him for some small matter of theft. If Gatt had been a bitter idiot before, he was even worse now. Instead he focused on the beer. Vyk really did brew an amazing recipe, the liquid was so yeasty and thick, he felt he could almost chew it.
Just as he closed his eyes happily, determined to sink into the joys of his drink and the successful shot, a voice said, "Ah, Hiro. I had feared that I would find you here."
His eyes snapped open, and he grinned at his approaching friend. "Feared?" Milo Brax took a seat next to Hiro, his countenance grave. Milo was a young man training to become a priest with a thick face, heavy eyebrows, and a hefty build. Despite all of that, he always, somehow, managed to convey a sense of being a rather spare presence. In many ways, it was an unsettling effect.
"It is the duty of every true knight to serve his devotions above all," Milo said, rather sententiously. "And with your own tragic circumstances, Hiro, I would have imagined that you would be in need of prayer."
Lupo chuckled. "You sound as though we're in need of conversion."
"An occupational hazard," Milo admitted blandly. He turned back to Hiro, sitting up very straight, very neatly arranged. It was a trick of his, that finicky appearance. "But yes, where should I find you but in the tavern, wallowing in beer?"
Vyk muttered under his breath, "Don't see why you have to come and try to run me out of business."
Unperturbed, Milo held up a hand. "On the contrary, it is the duty of priests to lend comfort to the righteous. Forgive my thoughtless use of words."
"Milo," said Hiro irritably, "either buy a drink or drop it."
Milo studied Hiro for a moment, and then chuckled ruefully, signaling Vyk for a drink. He said lightly, "I am surprised at you, Hiro. Why aren't you more concerned about this? Your own father, after all…"
"Milo," asked Hiro pointedly, "have you ever tried to convince Baron Vyrun to do something for you?" He didn't wait for an answer, hurrying on, nearly relieved to have an outlet for his self-justification. "Besides, you make it sound as though I'm doing something bad here. Father's in my thoughts. Of course he is, but what can I do about it? All I've done is to continue bettering myself, and you presume to chastise me for it."
"Better yourself," Gatt suddenly bellowed. "Better yourself! You're a pup! A nobody. A nothing and nothing's all you'll ever be."
Hiro stood up slowly. "Go home, Gatt. You're drunk."
Gatt lurched to his feet in turn, and stumped over to Hiro, his liquor laden breath hot on Hiro's face. "I mighta been laid off," he breathed, "but I'm twice the man you ever was. Or your father or anyone!"
Hiro lunged at him immediately, and he scored a quick hit on Gatt's left eye with his mug of beer. Hissing in anger, Gatt reared backwards seizing his own mug and accidentally striking Gnorn who was behind him, an old drunkard.
Gnorn's companion, a gnome named Tack, launched to his feet smacking Gatt hard, bellowing, "Leave Gnorn alone!"
In less than another moment a general brawl had broken out. Hiro ignored the chaos around him, focusing all of his anger on Gatt, lunging forward again and successfully scissoring down at the beastman's legs. Gatt fell with a muffled grunt as Hiro immediately launched himself forward and began thwacking him.
He heard the sounds around him, clunking wood, harsh cried, breaking glass, but none of it really touched him. Even as he struck a satisfying blow in Gatt's face, he felt a burst of heat travel past him, and then a hand clapped itself on his shoulder. Reacting instantly, the young knight swung around, his fist sailing for a blow… Milo threw his drink in Hiro's face.
Sputtering for a moment, Hiro lurched to his feet, feeling the pounding blood in his head. For the first time, he really took in the scene. The room was a mess of overturned tables, and now that he thought on it, there was a smell of charred wood upon the air…
Even as he registered the fact, Old Vyk came rushing out from behind the counter, protectively huddling some bottles against his chest. "Get this wild arsonist outta here!"
"Wild arsonist," screeched Pyra. "WILD ARSONIST?!" Pyra Mist stood tall, thin and bony, her face alive with anger. The elven mage was one of Hiro's oldest friends, and, he admitted privately to himself, his feelings might go quite a bit further than that. Still, it seemed to be the right moment to step in, before Pyra was at the old man's throat.
Adopting as urbane an air as he could manage at short notice and in his disheveled state he sidled over. "I'm sorry old boy; I rather suppose this is all my fault…"
Neither one took much notice of him. "You should be on your knees thanking me," Pyra squawked angrily. "I just broke up that little fight you had on your hands!"
"GET OUT," bellowed Vyk angrily, booting her toward the door. Hiro stepped up, an injured expression on his face. Vyk turned to him, and then the old man's expression fell. "Aw… aw, don't do that. I mean…" absently polishing one of the bottles against his robes, Vyk finally muttered, "Mortred was my friend but you can't… you can't do things like that, Hiro. You just can't. Gatt isn't worth getting upset about anyway."
Hiro hesitated for a moment, and then he felt Milo's heavy hand clapping itself on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "I think I'll go now." With that, Hiro turned and swept out of the pub, though his shoulders were still rigid with rage. He was sorry for Vyk's sake, but nonetheless he was not going to apologize for his actions. He didn't deserve to be spoken to like that from Gatt or anyone, he, a knight anointed! And he would not suffer any insult to his father, the premier knight of Thornwood.
"That," said Milo, easily keeping pace with him, "is exactly the sort of thing that I was talking about. It does you no good to choose to reflect on being a knight, drinking ale and pinching serving girls' butts when you're just angry that Baron Vyrun has not authorized you to search for your father."
Hiro heaved an irritated sigh. "First of all, Milo, whether or not I pinch serving girls' butts has nothing to do with my father. Second, if you're going to try to insult me, you should come up with something better than that. And last, you talk like an educated clergyman."
"I am an educated clergyman."
"No," Hiro corrected, a touch of maliciousness in his voice. "You're a jumped up member of the peasantry who's become an educated clergyman."
Milo opened his mouth, perhaps to retort, but, more likely to deliver some boring moralistic sermon, when the sound of running feet arrested both of their attention. Lupo had caught up to them and Pyra as well.
"That was entertaining," the beastman said. "I doubt that Gatt has had a headache this bad in years."
"Hiro! Why walk out like that? You don't have to take stuff like that from Vyk! He's a creep anyway."
Milo chose this moment to launch his revenge. "Hiro was distracted by the comparative morality of pinching serving girls' butts. A thoughtless oversight, and somewhat my fault, I'm afraid." He managed to keep an absolutely straight face and a perfectly grave tone.
Pyra playfully shoved Hiro's shoulder, "You can pinch my butt!"
As Hiro stumbled to side he heaved, "This is juvenile." He might have said more, but at that moment, he tripped heavily across something or other. He started to stagger to his feet, but then he froze, staring at the obstacle that had tripped him. The others had fallen silent as well.
Hiro was half lying and half crouching on the lifeless body of a lizardman.
Lupo breathed, "That's the mercenary Baron Vyrun hired."
Hiro scrambled back to his feet, shuddering in slight distaste. In another moment the gravity of the situation sank in. He started running, shouting over his shoulder, "The king must be informed. Milo! Go get the priest, investigate the body, find out whatever you can. Lupo, you're with me, your voice might carry some weight, you knew him slightly. Pyra! Guard the body."
Without another word, he concentrated on running to the castle. In about fifteen minutes, besides panting with weariness, he had reaching the gates. He continued forward for approximately seven seconds before grinding to a halt. The gate was closed. He sputtered at it in for a moment, in tired indignation, but then an officious voice sounded above his head.
"Halt right there. What business have you with the Castle?"
"What business," Hiro repeated incredulously. "What business? You clot, I live here! I pass in and out every day!"
"Now, now," said the guard. "I'm not about to open the gate to the first charlatan who comes along."
Hiro groaned. The only good of this was that he couldn't detect the slightest trace of smugness in the soldier's voice, so he obviously wasn't doing this for his own gratification. Improvising rapidly, Hiro shouted, "The gate is never closed. I'm suspicious of you, friend."
The guard replied with maddening complacency, "Well it is now. There's been an emergency declared in the Castle."
Lupo's dry voice abruptly sounded, "Elgon you dolt, the lad's with me. Let us pass; we have important words for His Grace."
The guard, Elgon, gaped uncertainly. "Sir Lupo?" There was an open note of hesitation in his voice. "I don't know…"
Another guard, by this point, had made his way to Elgon's post. Hiro recognized him immediately; one of Baron Vyrun's men, a gelfling named Dai. Not a bad sort for all of that, however.
"Dai," he started to shout, but the gelfling cut him off immediately.
"Let them in, Elgon."
As the gate swung open, Hiro shouted, "What's going on anyway? Why all of these measures?"
Dai looked surprised. "You mean you didn't know? There's been an assassination attempt on His Grace."
--
"Treachery," bellowed King Drake, slamming his fist against the arm of his throne. "Vile, Parmecian treason! And you still think we should deign to call them friend, Theos?"
Theos panted, pitifully out of breath. It had been a matter of luck that he had been on hand for this event at all. Had he not been hobbling by the Throne Room at the time…
Vyrun in the meanwhile was ordering curtly, "Take this dog's body and go." He gestured imperiously at the slain assassin before continuing, "Does this not prove my point, Your Grace? A Parmecian assassin!"
Regaining his breath, Theos said sharply, "Gentlemen! We are all of us Parmecians!" Abruptly, his strength seemed to leave him. With a groan he sank to the floor. Leonard moved immediately, his grave stoic face troubled, drawing up a chair for Theos.
The old man sputtered, "All of us, Parmecians. I should hope you have not forgotten that, Baron."
Vyrun purpled. "This charade has gone on long enough! The only one wearing a false beard here is you, Theos. You didn't object to the document you were commanded to draw up yesterday!"
Theos frowned. "What are you talking about, Baron? I don't have…" he stopped. "This is not good," he muttered to himself. Baron Vyrun's paper never had turned up, but what in Rune could have happened to it? "This is nonsense," he said loudly. "Baron, you are not a stupid man. These problems will not go away if we simply ignore them! Even if that man was an assassin…"
'"Even if,"' Vyrun repeated a dull flush creeping up his neck. "You doubt that there was an assassination attempt? Backsliding into a little senility, eh?"
Theos replied coldly, his mind absolutely clear for the first time in days, "He was apprehended and killed remarkably easily for being an assassin."
"Enough of this," bellowed Vyrun. "You are the one jumping from one course to another!"
King Drake's face had a sullen closed cast to it. He complained to no one in particular, "What am I to make of this? He says one thing and Theos another."
Vyrun said loudly, "This is all meaningless anyway, Your Grace. In light of this… shocking occurrence, I urge you in the strongest possible terms to reconsider my proposal. Those barbarians in the west must either be brought to heel or…" he hesitated for a long moment, "Or we must close our borders."
King Drake looked rather uncertain. "Perhaps," he muttered. "It may solve a lot of problems…"
Theos gasped loudly. To even see that look of calculation about his friend's face on such a subject… He said hoarsely, "No, Your Grace… you must not… to do so would be, unthinkable. Evil."
"Must not," roared the king. "You dare say must not? To me?" Trembling with obvious rage, Drake rose to his feet, pointing a shaky finger at the doorway. "Out, Theos. I've had my fill of this! Out!"
Theos gaped at his old friend. Strongly then the image rose in his memory of poor lonesome old Drake, grieving for his dead son… "No," he whispered, not even aware that he'd said it aloud. He could see it all too clearly, his poor lonely friend doing everything he could to try and prove himself… Still, he persisted, "This is not the course of wisdom, Your Grace! The key to this matter should be Sir Mortred, not"
Vyrun cut him off with a snort. "And what is your brilliant suggestion Lord Theos? You would have us fearing our own shadows with all of your nonsense about a dead sorcerer."
Theos replied with some heat, "Mephisto did not die the first time he interfered in Thornwood's affairs! And he too vanished near the Labyrinth!"
"That place is very old. Doubtless it houses things that could have killed him." Vyrun's eyes gleamed as he said this.
"I tell you, Mortred is the key to this whole affair. He was concerned before his disappearance, I'm certain of it. And he was looking into some matter or other."
"If that is the case, why did you not bring it up before now?" As Theos drew breath for a retort, Vyrun suggested blandly, "But then I hear that these little slips are not uncommon in the elderly."
Drake's fist struck his throne again. "Theos, Vyrun! Enough of this unseemly wrangling!"
"My pardons, Your Grace," said Theos. "I fear that the import of this affair has put us all on edge. And, might I ask what you have done with Sir Tristain if this affair really hangs on our security?"
"Tristain could not be found." Vyrun folded his arms looking not quite contented.
At that very moment, there was sound of running feet and the door to the chambers flew open with a resounding crash. In through the door stalked a blonde-haired young man, Sir Hiro.
"Murder," roared Hiro! "Your Grace, I bring you grave tidings from the town."
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, lad," snapped Vyrun. "And say what you have to say in a seemly fashion. Doubtless you were not brought up entirely bereft of courtesy, an"
The king raised his hand. "Vyrun, hold." The Baron broke off, obviously seething. The king beckoned Hiro to come closer. "Tell all you have and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king," he added, just a touch sententiously.
For the first time a flicker of his appearance seemed to cross Hiro's face. Doubtless he was only just realizing what he must look like to them, disheveled and sweating. Theos felt a surge of sympathy for the young knight, but he held his silence.
"Your Grace, on the outskirts of town I discovered the body of the mercenary that Baron Vyrun had employed to search for my father."
There was a long awkward silence at that point. Finally, Theos sighed, "This changes things considerably."
Vyrun snapped, "This changes nothing."
"It proves that there is something, or, more likely, someone actively sabotaging our investigations into Mortred's disappearance! Say what you will, Baron, this confirms that there is an unfriendly intelligence actively working against us."
Vyrun sputtered for a moment before shooting back, "The Labyrinth is a dangerous place. Gila could have met his end by any number of perfectly natural explanations."
"Yes, as naturally as Mortred disappeared. And even if he was just slaughtered by a monster, then what is his body doing on the outskirts of our town?"
"Very well, Theos, but even so, this is an internal affair, and you keep recommending that we turn out attention to external affairs… even after what happened here today!"
"Oh yes," grunted the king, looking displeased. "I'd forgotten about that."
"Your Grace," Theos began, but Drake continued unrelentingly.
"No, Theos, sooner or later the rest would have turned on us too, even as that one did. As you're so interested in Mortred, however, I give you full permission to muck around in that business as much as you wish."
"Your Grace, this is idiocy! We must have the courage to look beyond our own borders! West Parmecia needs Thornwood."
Drake's eyes went flat, but the king said not a word. He merely gave Theos a heavy look, rose to his feet, and walked into a back room. Theos could hear his own appalled breathing. How could Drake be so foolish? How could he turn his back on every duty he had ever known like that?
Baron Vyrun said coldly, "It would seem that you're not wanted here, Theos. Perhaps you should leave, as His Grace commanded."
In something of a daze, Theos hobbled out of the Throne Room, not remotely aware of his infirmities for the first time in years. As he passed young Hiro, the knight's face revealed disbelief and outrage. Fortunately, he seemed to be wise enough not to voice his sentiments plainly. But even so, his mind lingered on Drake more and more as Theos had known him as a young man. The then prince had been so shunted aside… whatever he did one of his elder brothers had already done, and usually better. Poor lonely Drake, determined to come in from the cold…
The thought was nearly enough to break Theos's heart. "No," he murmured fiercely. "I will not let you do this, Drake. For your sake… have to hurry."
As Theos hobbled back towards his rooms, he finally understood. Castle Thornwood had changed… and it was a reflection of the change in the king. The only question remaining, was why had the king changed, and so drastically? Yes, he understood the grief, the age-old fears, but what had brought them out at this point? Hadn't something else changed?
Humming absently, Theos continued his hobbling way into his inner chambers, not even noticing the ponderous weight of the door for once. He sat down, tapping his cheek as he tried to see his way through this muddle. In fact, he felt rather invigorated by the mental puzzle, but the sense of urgency that he felt robbed him of the joy of that same invigoration. He could not let King Drake wreck himself.
After a moment of thought, he turned to sift through some papers on his desk, and then he stopped short. Staring in shock, he saw that there, sitting folded neatly across some other papers was Baron Vyrun's document.
"Master?"
The soft voice coming from behind him nearly made Theos jump in alarm. He spun about, facing Grak. "What," he sputtered. "Where…"
His servant's face revealed concern. "I had thought that you might be Sir Tristain by the way you entered so briskly…"
It took Theos a moment to catch the implication, but only a moment. "Sir Tristain was here?" For the first time in years, he took no notice of the birdsong outside his window.
"Yes master," replied Grak. "He wished to speak with you most urgently and he seemed somewhat… excited. He also spoke of the book that you loaned him…"
"The book," said Theos sharply. He paused for a moment considering. Sir Mortred had asked specifically after that book the day before he had vanished, and then Tristain asking about the same thing… and then Tristain had stopped by in a state of considerable agitation? Theos didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.
"Yes, master. Would you like to see the book?"
"Indeed," Theos murmured gravely, nodding his head just a little. "I should very much like to see the book."