By Kendal Black

It's on the way...

2011-03-30T11:09:00.000-04:00

Sorry, everyone, for the lateness of this week's installment. I am having problems with my computer. It says irq less than equal. Not only is it mistaken about that, it can't spell; my irk is more than equal.

Please stay tuned...

52: The Ghost King -- Fog of War

2011-03-20T13:01:00.010-04:00

The farmers fought with the vigor and enthusiasm seen only in absolutely green troops. They took big risks. They charged without being told. Fourteen of them were killed. So were all the goblins.

Dickson noted with approval that the corporals had taught the farm boys to form a line, but had not told them much else, relying instead on the volunteers' familiarity with their own weapons, the axes and bows they had brought from home.

Dickson was thereafter too busy to notice more, for the battle was thick and heavy around him, and he was busy with his sword and buckler.

The goblins' leader, the hobgoblin, lived for some minutes after the battle, though he was badly wounded. Hobgoblins take a lot of killing. He muttered and raved in his own language. Dickson did not know what he was saying but the word "Ahnna" was in it repeatedly.

"You were looking for Ahnna?" Dickson said. "Speak up, for you are our prisoner."

The goblin answered in human speech. "Orders...reward. I no find her, Ahnna. Damn. Found fighters instead."

"Why were you looking for her?"

The hobgoblin opened an enormous eye and examined Dickson. "Why tell you, ugly human sack of skruck?"

"Oh, I understand," said Dickson. "I'm a soldier too. You're just a dumb flunky with orders you know nothing about. No doubt your masters did not see fit to tell you the reason. Sad they treat us like that, but they thought you were too stupid to trust."

"Not true, human buttface. She's magic. That's dangerous. Kill her because she is magic. Now leave me alone, go away, I must rest. Or bring me beer."

The hobgoblin then closed his eye and said no more, breathing noisily and raggedy for a quarter of an hour before he finally stopped breathing.

"These won't have been the only goblins looking for her," Dickson said. "Now we begin the search anew."

#

Bonfort planned to besiege the castle. But the defenders abandoned it and poured into the countryside. Bonfort smiled grimly.

"This is a new kind of war, Harkins," Bonfort said to his Farwalker aide. "We have eyes in the sky, flying creatures to observe the enemy and report back. I think that's going to change everything."

"The enemy, no doubt, has such aid as well," said the Farwalker.

"Well, blow the trumpets and bang the drums, get everyone turned around and headed after the enemy, for we'll be fighting in the field, not attacking a castle."

#

"Ahnna, do you hear it?" said Bonfie. "There's an army about. There's about to be a battle, a big one. We better find a place to hide."

"No question which way to go now," she said. "Away from the fighting, is all." She sounded tired and afraid.

"We're lucky, remember? Come on, all we have to do is put the sound to our backs and keep to the trees. Say, do you climb trees?"

"As well as any boy," she said.

"Yeah? We'll just see about that. Anyway, we might have a chance to climb a tree and see the battle! Wouldn't that be grand?"

"Grand? Why?" she said. "I just want to get out of here."

#

Dickson and his trackers fanned out, seeking for footprints. They sought back the way they had come, reasoning that Ahnna, though she had been ahead of them, never got to the ambush point--she must have deviated from her straight-line course. But why?

"This is getting us nowhere," said Dickson. "We've lost the trail." He sat down on a rock to think. Far in the distance he heard the horns and drums of an army. Was it Bonfort or the enemy? Or was it both?

He clapped a hand to his head and laughed. "Of course!" he said. He blew his whistle to call in the trackers. When they had gathered around, he said, "You hear the sounds of war coming this way. We've lost the trail, but we are following someone taught to keep out of harm's way. Time to do some mind tracking."

"We have no firm starting point to begin from," said a tracker. "But she must be in this general area, and will move away from the din. That still leaves us a broad area, for 'away' could be any direction that is generally away. Anywhere between northwest and southwest."

"The choice will become narrower as the battle draws nearer," said Dickson. "She'll want to put as much distance as she cam between herself and the fighting. Well, fan out again and look for sign, this time restricting the search--between northwest and southwest. You all know the look of her tracks by now, and her little friend's. We'll narrow our search when the army is nearer."

#

"They aren't massing to fight," said Bonfort. "They're fanning out instead, and running for it. That makes no sense. Our horsemen can catch up to them easily. All their goblins are on foot. Some of their men are mounted, and their eldritch friends--well, who knows? Some are fast, some can fly, but the giants are slow plodders."

"Could be a trap," said Harkins. "Lure us into pursuit, then fold the files together, turning files into ranks, and catch us in the middle."

"Well, after them," said Bonfort. "We'll watch out for that stratagem. I wouldn't think goblins smart enough for it, but you know what they say about underestimating your enemy. And who knows what sort of loathsome intelligence is doing the planning for them?"

At length an element of Bonfort's cavalry caught up to a group of goblins. The goblins turned at bay. But instead of drawing in to attack the cavalry, the other goblins continued to scatter and flee.

"King Bonfort! King Bonfort!" cried a voice above Bonfort's head. He looked up as Luren glided in for a landing on her strange steed. "The enemy army is breaking up, but they are not routed. If they were, they would be going every which way, but the paths of all are bending westward, after they get out of your sight. There is some plan to their movement. I think they're going to regroup."

"Pleasant to see you again, Lady Luren," said Bonfort. "Thanks. All right, what strong points are there around here, places where they could go to rally, and perhaps make a stand?

"I don't know, but Dickson is out that way--the way they're headed. I saw him. He beat the goblins he found, but now it looks like all of them are headed his way."

"Get the army turned around again, Harkins," said Bonfort.

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51: The Ghost King -- Goblins

2011-03-13T13:01:00.037-04:00

Ahnna slipped on a stone while crossing a stream. Bonfie helped her up.

"That water is icy cold!" said Ahnna.

"If you have something dry to put on, you'd better change into it. Otherwise we ought to have a fire: It's chilly and you can't go around wet," said Bonfie.

"Oh no!" said Ahnna. "I've lost it!"

"Lost what?"

"The pathfinder stone. We must find it. Help me look."

But the stone was not to be found. They knelt on stones and groped with numb hands in the frigid water, but found only smooth pebbles.

"Now we really do need a fire," Bonfie said. "My hands won't work right."

But he found he could neither rub tinder nor strike his flint, so cold were his hands. "Oh, no," he said. "We must warm up. But how can we? We'll catch our deaths."

Ahnna, shivering, managed to paw together some sticks and with a word, set them ablaze.

"How did you do that? And wait, you did it before, in the grue cave."

"It's magic. And you must not tell anyone ever, for it's a secret," she said.

"Are you like a witchgirl or something?"

"If I told you I was a magical royal princess, you wouldn't believe me anyway. I've tried. So think what you like." She rubbed her hands over the fire. "We'll need more wood."

They warmed themselves by the fire. She said, "We ought to look for the stone again. Stones that show your way are very rare and ridiculously valuable. I shouldn't like to tell Mother I've lost it."

But in the end it was as before: they found nothing, and again ended up warming numbed and aching hands at the fire. They made some tea and drank it, enjoying the warmth of it. "Well," said Bonfie, "Remember the spot and maybe we can come back and look some more another time--when it's warmer, I hope."

"But what of our journey?" Ahnna said. "How will we find our way?"

"That part's all right--I've been watching the way we've been taking. I can lead us the same way we've been going."

They could think of no other course of action, so when they were well warmed, they put out their fire and set out again.

#

Dickson, measuring with his tracking stick, carefully traced the children's path. It would not do to make any mistake. His security detail, consisting of a hundred farm boys, followed behind the trackers and would surely obliterate the children's tracks. Any missed clues would be gone forever.

"They're going straight as a string," said one of Dickson's Farwalker companions. "Odd, that. Even when they detour to go around some obstacle, they come right back onto their straight course."

After hours of tracking they came to a stream. "Someone fell, right here," said Dickson. "See the scraped moss, the disturbed rock. Then, who knows why, it looks like two children on their knees, bending over the water, there and there."

Shortly he found the remains of the fire. "Good," he said. "They dried out before continuing."

"Over here are some used tea leaves, boss," said one of the trackers. "They knew to get something warm inside 'em, after a chill."

#

Some miles ahead, the goblins lay in ambush, exactly on the course line Ahnna and Bonfie were following. The monsters lay silent and concealed, deep in the shadows, each with his weapon beside him.

#

"So," said Bonfie. "Tell me more about this fire trick. That's really useful. Can you teach me how to do it?"

"Probably not. You have to be born with something, it's like an extra sense, like you can feel magic and sense its presence."

"I'm pretty sure I don't have that. What does it feel like?"

"It's hard to explain," Ahnna said. It's...well, it's a little like feeling a wind blow past you and around you, or like recognizing a flavor you've tasted before. Only there isn't anything there."

"Hmm. Well, I'm not magical. Speaking of tasting things, let's stop for lunch."

"What have we got left?"

"Just some whistle balls, and some of those wild onions from the other day," he said.

"You know what I'd like?" Ahnna said. "Roast duck. Cabbage slaw. Pickles. Fresh baked bread with lots of butter."

"Pie," said Bonfie. "Apple pie. After the duck, of course. But before the cream trifle."

Bonfie boiled up the dumplings and onions. "My, what nice roast duck," he said. "Will you have a slice of the breast, milady, or would you rather have a leg?"

"Some of the breast, if you please, and pass the dish of pickles and relishes."

They laughed, but then Ahnna looked sad, and began to weep. "Oh, Bonfie, what's to become of us?"

"Huh? It's like you said, we go to the capital, to the big palace everyone's heard of, and ask them for some duck."

"Polly, she's the cook there, makes the best roast duck in the whole world. Though an assistant does it most times--she has lots of helpers, and a whole hall of nothing but pantries, and..."

"And what?"

"Oh, nothing," she said. "I was just going to say, I hope I see her again."

"Sure you will," Bonfie said. "We've gotten this far. We've had good luck, like you were saying. Are you ready for the pie yet, or would you like more of this succulent roasted fowl?"

"You're a good sort, Bonfie."

"You're all right too, for a girl. Can you do any other magic, besides the fire thing?"

"Sometimes I can," she said. "I'm just starting my training, and that one is my greatest gift. But I can move things. Sometimes only tiny things that don't weigh much, sometimes bigger things, only not very big. I'm still working on that. Like this." She concentrated for a moment, drawing her eyebrows together, then a pebble sailed up off the ground and into the air, hovered for a moment, then fell at Bonfie's feet. He stared. She said, "Someone who is really good at that can lift a sword and wield it, using only the power of magic. I'm not nearly at that point yet."

"Wow, a magician!" said Bonfie.

After lunch they resumed their trek. Bonfie led them confidently onward. "Of course I'm sure which way," he told Ahnna, in answer to her question. "This is the same direction we've been going for days. Why, they'd better get busy plucking that duck, because we'll be there before you know it."

But it was not as he said. By evening they had circled back to the same stream, and the same crossing, where they had started. "Oh, Bonfie," Ahnna said.

"Well. I dunno. It looked like the same direction."

#

Dickson saw signs on the ground that alarmed him greatly. "Alert the security party and tell them to get ready to fight." For he had crossed the trail of a goblin war party and it led straight ahead. "Don't worry about preserving the trail. Trample it -- we need speed!"

The goblins had left many tracks and heavy ones, so it was a speedy job to follow them. Dickson found where the goblins were hiding. They were concealed at the edge of a little clearing. He had no time to divide his forces for a hammer-and-anvil attack, or an encirclement either, and in any case had no idea whether the rustics he led could understand and carry out such orders. Into the clearing he charged, with a handful of trained soldiers at his back, and a milling mob of confused and frightened farmers.

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The Story To Date: Chapters 41-50

2011-03-06T12:01:00.013-05:00

Chapter 41: "Grand Alliance." In an unlikely alliance, eldritch creatures in great number join King Bonfort's army. The horses of Bonfort's army are panicked by the newcomers and flee. A messenger from Queen Goronla comes with the otherworldly troops, bringing a book for the wizard Lu. With the help of the book, Lu hopes to decipher the strange writing found in the region's tunnels.

Chapter 42: "Weird Army." The army of men and magical beings gets underway. Bonfort shows himself to the populace and his heralds proclaim him king before them. His forces are ambushed and the eldritch folk come into the fight. The locals see this and think Bonfort is in league with dark forces. Bonfort disappears and reappears during the ambush, for he has forgotten about his magical pendant and the power of the Old Roads. This leads observers to believe that he really is a ghost, just the opposite of what Bonfort is trying to tell them.

Chapter 43: "Old Books Are Best." Lu the wizard and Ingdor the elf work to understand the strange and ancient book Queen Goronla has sent to help them. Their location, Lord Brunn's stronghold, comes under attack by goblins. The main hall is destroyed, but the goblins are routed by night creatures, some of the forces sent by Goronla. The book is rescued from the fire by magic.

Chapter 44: "Grueslayer." Princess Ahnna and her friend, the orphan boy Bonfie Twelvepersons, are underground, hiding in tunnels and caves. They are charged at by a grue, a subterranean monster. Bonfie kills it with a lucky thrust, but is unnerved by the attack. Then a larger grue arrives. The children flee, and in so doing, pass into another world, by means of a magic they do not understand.

Bonfort continues to travel around the countryside, and begins to win over local opinion, at least among some of the people.

Chapter 45: "Luren." Lady Luren travels on an errand to return a horse to its rightful owners and, she admits to herself, she travels also in hopes of seeing her former lover, the rebellious Count Candrew. She encounters him but the meeting does not go well. She is aided in her journey by a hippogriff, a half horse, half griffin creature.

Chapter 46: "The Mock People." Luren returns to find Brunn's compound was attacked the previous night and the main hall burned down.

Bonfort begins his march westward to war, and finds he has a band of new followers, farm youths looking for adventure. Dickson, chief of the Farwalkers, wishes they were not tagging along; Bonfort hopes for the best.

Chapter 47: "The Light of Magic." Bonfort speculates on the nature of lineal magic and Princess Ahnna's gift for doing magical things. Could the magic have returned in Ahnna, that once empowered his house to do great things? He thinks over a prophecy he half remembers, that might have something to do with Ahnna--though he doubts it does. Concerned that she may have become a target in the war, however, he decides to check on things at Lurbridge Castle.

Chapter 48: "The Highest Star." Bonfie and Ahnna, frightened by the sight of a cavalcade of hideous riders, decide to leave the world they have found themselves in and return the tunnels and caverns they previously left. They find that Ahnna can return at will but Bonfie cannot, unless Ahnna holds his hand. After they return, Ahnna knights Bonfie as her knight-champion and protector.

Queen Jessica dies at Lurbridge Castle.

Chapter 49: "Jessica's Dagger." Bonfort and his army approach Lurbridge. A messenger brings Bonfort word that Jessica has been killed and Ahnna is at large in the countryside, fleeing goblins. Unable, in honor, to leave his place with the army, Bonfort sends Dickson to look for Ahnna.

Ahnna proposes a risky course of action, that she and Bonfie walk cross country to the capital at Murran Court, where, she thinks, they will be safe.

Chapter 50: "The Farmers." Dickson finds Ahnna's tracks as she heads westward, and pursues. The farm youths who had tagged along with the army are put to work setting things right on the ruined farms in the area and protecting the locals.

The goblins plan to ambush and kill Ahnna as she flees westward; Dickson is on her trail and hurrying to catch up.

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50: The Ghost King -- The Farmers

2011-02-27T12:31:00.229-05:00

Ahnna said, "The pathfinder stone always points home, so we can go all the way there and never get lost."

Bonfie was not sure he trusted the stone to show them the way. But Ahnna was probably right when she said they they needed trust to their luck; luck had been with them so far. "Do we have all the food we can carry?" he said.

"We have all that's left."

#

Dickson, with his small party of Farwalkers, stood at the secret tunnel exit from Lurbridge Castle.

"Any tracks will be faded and gone, from when she first came out," said Dickson. "We may find later tracks. We are looking for a girl about so high." He gestured with his hand. "She's a little above average weight. That'll give you approximate length of stride and depth of tracks. Walks with feet slightly splayed; this increases going uphill--I've tracked her before."

The trackers fanned out. In a few hours they came back with their reports. There were tracks many children wandering about, the newest footprints very recent, made within a day.

"We'll hope our girl had the sense to get out of the throng and go to ground. We'll head for the deep woods, as a first try." Dickson looked at a map. "Hilly a few miles southwest of here, and hills are better for hiding in than flat country. Southwest then--alert the irregulars."

In an hour they came to the hills. "There may be caves about, from the look of the country. Look for them," said Dickson.

But one of the trackers whistled and all of them came to a stop. "Two children, walking together," he said. "Two days ago, it looks like. No, three." The tracker held a stick in his hand, with a thin band of stretchy fabric tied around it. He rolled the fabric along the stick until the distance from the band to the end of the stick matched the length of the smaller child's stride. Then, stick along the ground, he found the next footprint easily, for it was about the same distance ahead of the last. He tracked in this way until he found a clear footprint, and called out, "Boss! The kid has a tack in one heel."

Dickson came over to look. The footprint showed the impression of a broad-headed tack stuck into the heel, far back. "That's my little angel," he said. "The Farwalker heel code. 'Going a long way to the west' it says. The capital, probably--the tack's all the way to the back of the heel."

"But sir, that takes her into enemy territory."

"We shall have to catch up to her," said Dickson. "And quickly. It's all enemy territory, these days. Even here: We've arrived, but we haven't conquered yet. After her, and quickly, while the light lasts."

#

Farmer Millard found himself in awkward straits, hundreds of children to look after and no farm. He, and his neighbors, tried to look after the little refugees. But goblins were abroad, burning and despoiling and killing. Not all of the children had survived. Not all the neighbors had, either.

Doing what they could, the farmers had taken up arms and led the children wherever seemed safest: here and there to out of the way corners of the countryside. The farmers shot some deer: those were soon eaten. They grubbed up forest roots, not palatable but edible. Those too were now in short supply.

Millard was thrilled to hear--but no, did he really hear it? Yes he did! An old Royal Army marching tune, one that everyone knew, and being sung by many men. And here they came down the road. He went out waving to meet them. But they were not soldiers; they were country boys in their work clothes, led by Army corporals.

But they were here to help, and that meant worlds to the farmer. He soon explained his plight. "I had grain and to spare in my granaries, but they got burned, down to the staddles. Animals killed or run off. I don't know if anything can be salvaged."

When the farm boy volunteers saw children in rags, and hungry, some frowned, many looked away, and a few wept, for this was not the heroic face of war they had come to see. This was terrible. But they knew what needed doing.

It turned out that some, at least, of the grain could be saved, for it was in clay crocks. Some was scorched and much had spilled into the fires and been lost. Enough grain remained to do substantial good, but there was no way to grind it. The millstones were broken, smashed into pieces.

"My uncle, he made a pair of millstones once, and I helped," said one of the farm lads. So he was put in charge of millstones.

There was just one battle with goblins. It was sharp but short, for the goblins ran away when they found they were outnumbered. If the farm lads swung their axes with especial vigor, and shot their bows with no more feeling than if they had been shooting at rabbits, who can blame them? For they knew it is a sin to desecrate a farm; life itself depends on the soil and its tilling, and on the livestock.

#

The chief hobgoblin of the district consulted a map. On it, he had marked with blotty ink spots the locations of spy reports. Spies: Small flying faerie creatures, rebellious to their queen, brought him news. They reminded him of insects; they looked tasty. Two children traveled together, they said, one a blonde girl... The sightings lay in a straight line leading west. He called for his goblins.

"Look here," he said. "What do you see?"

"Paper, picture." said one goblin.

"It's a map," said another, proud of his knowledge.

"A map, very good," said the hobgoblin. "Do you know what it is for? No? It's a picture of the world."

He laboriously explained his discovery. The children were traveling in a straight line. Therefore, to catch them, all the goblins needed to do was get ahead of them, and wait.

"Ah, ambush!" said the bright goblin.

"That is right," said the hobgoblin. "And we get all the reward beads for catching girl." He thought to himself that he would keep most of the reward for himself, but he didn't mention that part to his goblins. "Remember very carefully. Do not eat the girl. We must bring body back, to show we got right child, this time."

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49: The Ghost King -- Jessica's Dagger

2011-02-20T13:56:00.001-05:00

"Untie her," said King Bonfort. "I know her. She's on the castle's staff."

"Yes sir. We found her in the woods near here. Says she has a message for you alone. We didn't know..."

"I see," said Bonfort. "Marcia, are you all right?"

"Nothing much scuffed but my pride, lord. Your lookouts are efficient, but not gentle. I am so glad to see you. They said you were dead, but I didn't believe it."

"Bring her food and hot wine," said Bonfort to those who stood about. To Marcia, he said "You must have been out all day and all night, to get here. Sit by the fire."

"Not so," said Marcia. "For I bear ill tidings, and those were best spoken at once. In private."

Some time later, Bonfort emerged from his tent, his face rigid. "Send me the cutler," he said. "Pivens, I think his name is." The man was soon found.

Bonfort took from his pocket a dagger's hilt, without a blade. He gave it to the craftsman, saying, "I want a blade for this. My wife sent it to me, a token of reconciliation, but she is now dead. I want a blade to avenge her. An envenomed blade, if possible. You know how to do that?"

"Yes, my lord, but it is against your own law."

"I hadn't thought of that. You're right, of course. Find me a triangular blade of good length, then, or make one." The cutler bowed and left.

"Dickson? Dickson!"

"Here, sir."

"The castle was taken by subterfuge. Jessica is dead. Ahnna got away, but goblins are scouring the land looking for blonde girl children."

"Bonfort, I..."

"Thanks, Dickson. Condolences later, though. Right now I need to figure out what to do. I'm pulled in several directions at once."

"What does your heart tell you?"

"To go looking for my daughter. I can't. My place, and duty, is at the head of the army."

"Send me, then. I'll go after Ahnna. You can spare me; my guys can run their operations without me. Trained that way, just in case. Harkins will ride with you and implement your orders."

"Go then," said the king. "You are the best woodsman and tracker in the realm, and Ahnna knows you. In fact, you're a better man for the job than I am."

"I'll want about fifty sergeants or corporals from the army," said Dickson. "And give me the thousand-odd ragtag farm boys who have come along, unasked. I didn't want them, but they're useful now."

So it was decided. As Dickson rode away, Bonfort wondered if he would ever see his daughter or his friend again. He felt cold and very weary.

#

Ahnna and Bonfie lay on a hill, camouflaged with dirt on faces and hands, and covered with vines and leaves, and looked about. The Millard farm was a burned ruin. Bonfie said, "I wonder where the other kids have gotten too. If they're not..."

"We must hope," said Ahnna. "We must. Good fortune follows the good, though they suffer much. Good wins in the end, though the way is hard."

"You talk like a book."

"But it's true. Look how much good luck we've had."

"So, we're good, then?" Bonfie sounded like he was about to make a wisecrack.

"Well, we're not goblins. The bad people are against us, so we must be somehow good."

At this, Bonfie was unsure what to say. He had been about to say something like, maybe if they had been better children, they would have had better luck, but it would be pointless to joke, for Ahnna was dead serious.

Ahnna rummaged in her pack. "Good. I haven't lost it."

"What is that?"

"It's a pathfinder stone. They are rare. It shows you how to get somewhere. This one is virtued to show the way to my daddy's big castle at Murran Court. See? The bright spot moves around the edge so it always points home."

"Huh! I never saw one. I thought they were just stories."

"My mother put it in the pack for me, so she must have thought I needed it. We can't stay around here, Bonfie. Not with goblins burning farms and...and...looking for little blonde girls. It's the wrong time of year for a walking trip, and a long way to go. But our luck has held so far. I say we follow the stone and go where my daddy has a big castle and slews of knights and soldiers."

"Does that thing really work?" said Bonfie.

#

Dickson divided the farm boys into groups of about twenty and gave an officer to each group. Their job was simple. They were to travel around the district's farms and freeholds and keep their eyes open. Country people themselves, they would know when things were out of place, or wrong somehow. They were to put things right where they could: repairing things, routing out goblins, gathering survivors.

The rest of his plan depended on Ahnna remembering her lessons. He had taught her himself, about hiding and surviving. If she had kept her head, she would be miles away from the trouble's center, making faces as she ate root soup and smiling when she found some late berries.

Half a dozen Farwalkers had accompanied him. He took with him about a hundred of the rustic irregulars for a security force, and began the search.

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48: The Ghost King -- The Highest Star

2011-02-13T16:42:00.034-05:00

Princess Ahnna sat on the grass with her friend Bonfie. They were reading together. Bonfie was still learning how, but he was making quick progress.

"Say, what does this mean, Ahnna? 'Drawn and quartered.' I never heard of that before."

"I heard my father say once that he wished he could draw and quarter the King of Lormeen. What I suppose it means is, you have a portrait made of someone, like the ones of famous people, and you give him an apartment in the palace."

"Ah, it must be a grand thing, to be royalty!" said Bonfie. He had long since come to terms with the idea that Ahnna thought herself the princess: not that he believed it. But she believed it. There was no sense in arguing the point.

Bonfie heard something. He put his finger to his lips. Then he put his ear to the ground. "Horsemen, lots of them. Maybe we should go and meet them--make friends."

"I don't have a good feeling about this, Bonfie. We're strangers here. How do we know they're friendly?"

Reluctantly Bonfie saw the reason in this, for he secretly hoped for grownups to find them and take them somewhere safe, but after all that had happened... "Yeah, I guess so. Let's at least get a look at them." They hid in a bush and watched the road.

Moments later, Bonfie was glad they had hidden. A hideous cavalcade thundered past, led by a hunchback wearing an antlered crown. All manner of horribly disfigured men and women rode behind, bloated, emaciated, headless, maimed or deformed.

The children were silent long after the riders were out of sight. Ahnna was shaking. Bonfie was sweating.

"You're right, they don't look friendly."

Ahnna gave a little laugh. "No, I wouldn't say so."

They remained in hiding for a long time after the last hoofbeats died away.

"Bonfie, I think we should go back. Maybe the grues have gone away."

He found he had no objection. They made their way back. "We came out here," he said. "Right where the road dead ends, at the rock face." He walked confidently forward only to run smack into the stone wall. He stepped back, eyes watering. "Ow! My nose!"

"We went through without any trouble before," said Ahnna. "Let me try."

Bonfie watched as she walked up to the stone wall and vanished into it. Minutes passed and Bonfie realized, uncomfortably, that he was alone on a strange world.

Then Ahnna was back, stepping out of the stone with no more trouble than if stepping through a curtain. She sat down to think, chin on hand. "I went through and you didn't. Before, we both went through. That's odd."

"Grues?"

"None around, but something--I suppose it was the other one we saw--has picked clean the bones of the dead one."

"Maybe you have to go through first," said Bonfie. "That's the way it was before. You were in front and I was right behind you." So they tried it. Once again, Ahnna passed through and Bonfie was stopped with a bump.

Again Bonfie waited for her, this time longer than before, but she reappeared with a bag of provisions. "It'll be time for dinner soon," she said.

They cooked dinner and ate it. Then they curled up in their blankets and slept, well out of sight of the road.

In the morning, Ahnna prodded Bonfie awake, saying, "I've thought of it. The answer I mean. How we both got through. No time for breakfast, I want to try it." And holding him by the hand she led him through the stone. As before, he felt a tingle all over his body and then--they were back in the cool, dark caves.

"What happened?" he said.

"I remembered that before, I tried to stop, so I wouldn't run into the wall; you ran into me from behind and we stumbled through together. I don't know why, but you have to touch me, or it doesn't work. It's often said, 'sleep shall bring new counsel,' and sure enough, I thought of it in the morning."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't leave me behind back there--wherever there was."

"I wouldn't ever do that," she said. "You are my luck, and my Grueslayer. I never would have gotten this far without you." She held his hands in hers.

"Uh...I guess so. You're welcome and all. Anytime."

"I want you to promise me something, Bonfie. I want you to be my knight champion. Promise me, Bonfie, by the highest star, that you will always be my protector."

"Uh, sure. Of course I'll look out for you."

"Swear it, Bonfie. By the star."

"All right, I swear by the highest star."

"And now you must give me your sword and kneel down," she said.

It was best to humor her, when she was off on one of these royal jags. He gave her his long dagger and knelt.

She touched his shoulders with the blade and said, "I, Ahnna, Princess, and High Queen to come, the true shoot of the Tree of the West, a scion of Lermo the Great, the daughter of Bonfort and Jessica, do trust and declare you, Bonfie Grueslayer, to be true knight and my champion."

Bonfie felt something odd, as if this were suddenly no game to humor a mad little friend; it was like the feeling of grand words from a book, or the stirring pride when the regiment marched out. He felt...

"You can get up now, Bonfie."

"Oh. Yeah. Gimmee my dagger back." He put it away in its scabbard and said, "I figure we should take a look around, up above. Something's bound to be happening in the wide world, and we don't know what. For all we know, the war is over by now."

#

Through hill and dale, and by mountain passes, Bonfort and his army closed slowly upon the territory and ancient castle of Lurbridge.

In the castle, Queen Jessica had spent a miserable night, as usual. Her dungeon cell stank, it was damp, and she was deeply and utterly angry. She hurt all over. She, a queen, treated this way! She had, moreover, a thoroughly unwelcome visitor.

The hairy black spider, big as a mastiff, told her, "You have been very uncooperative, Jessica. I could almost believe you, that you do not know where the princess went. For all our trying, we have gotten nothing out of you."

"Read the Lessons of Lermo," she snarled. "'The one way to keep a secret.'"

"Ah, that again," came the dry, crackly voice of the monster. "You can't tell us because you do not know. It might even be true. In any case we can't drag the answer out of you. Look at you, in chains and webs, but still defiant. Worse luck for you, but you can be of service to me another way."

"Never!"

"Oh, but you will, this time. I do not speak of information. There is an enemy army headed this way, and it is time for me to leave."

"Good riddance and to hell and gone with you."

"Such a way to speak, Jessica, Jessica. No, there will be no further questioning. For my journey I need sustenance." The beast advanced upon her. From its body, huge penetrating beak unfolded on a stalk. It pierced Jessica's body, passing upward into the abdomen, as Jessica gave one last shriek, and died.

© All rights reserved

To Email Subscribers

2011-02-07T14:25:00.000-05:00

For reasons I have not yet figured out, yesterday's installment of The Ghost King did not go out to the people subscribed via email. Those subscribed via RSS got theirs okay.

You can find out what happened in the story by visiting this link. I hope the problem was a one time incident. If you get this message in an email it indicates that the problem, whatever it was, has cleared up. A lot of what happens on the Internet these days is a matter of third party programs cooperating (or not) over vast distances. Sometimes they do not act as one expects.

While you are on the site you may notice that the subscription widget has changed. The old one stopped working and needed to be removed from the site. Details are sketchy at this point as to just what happened to cause the widget to fail.

I apologize for the inconvenience: for the delay in getting you the latest. That link again is: 47: The Ghost King -- The Light of Magic

P.S. I'm blaming Mograsom.

Again, sorry for the delay.

--KB

47: The Ghost King -- The Light of Magic

2011-02-06T18:52:00.005-05:00

King Bonfort was puzzled. "Why do the faerie folk call us the 'mock people'?"

"I asked them about that," said Dickson. "It's because of their eyes. Magic is the light they see by. We human beings have no magic in us, so we look a bit hazy and indistinct to them. But sometimes our choices and actions invoke deep magic: We cooperate with the Great Mystery. Then we snap into sharp focus."

"What? They don't see the light of the sun?"

"They do, but they don't. The sun and moon are powerful sources of magic, they tell me, and shine brightly in their sky as well. The sun makes crops grow, they say--what could be more magical?"

"Some humans have magic in them. It runs in royal families, but it's hit or miss. It skipped me," said Bonfort.

They rode on for a while without speaking. The pale sun of winter made sparkling jewel troves of the icy trees. Bonfort wondered it the sun might indeed be magical.

"That reminds me of something," said Dickson at last. "The old Chronicles say Mograsom was defeated, last time, by your family's lineal magic."

"Defeated by Lermo, yes, that's the view of the leading historians. He used magic, in the end."

"How were you thinking of defeating him, my lord?"

"Eh? Hadn't thought that far ahead. Build an army, foment resistance, watch for my chance. Not by magic. I haven't any."

Sling bullets, of lead, from ancient times

Bonfort reflected for a while, then said "Magic declined in my house at the time of the War of the Four. The king and queen divorced, both remarried to other royalty and there were disputes over whose child should rule. That mess lasted up to the present day--up until I bit the bullet. I mean, until I married Jessica. The one faction wanted her for queen; the other, my brother for king."

"Your wedding day was the best day of the realm, Bonfort. Lifelong enemies were exchanging gifts and buying each other beer and brandy."

"For most, I'm sure it was. Anyway, it's a huge political mess over and done with."

The two old friends rode on in silence. They had been brother officers, long before events unforeseen brought Bonfort to the throne.

"I remember, my lord, the first time we spoke after you became High King. 'Remember one thing,' you told me, 'I have become king now, but I am still a cavalry officer, and know more about horse manure than any man else. Far too much of it flying around the court. I lay upon you this day a royal charge to say what you think regardless, to me at least.'"

Bonfort laughed. "I remember. Not very regal in the early days, was I? And I have gotten all I bargained for in straight talk!"

About a mile went by beneath their horses' hooves. "So, Dickson, what are you thinking?"

"It might be crazy, but are you sure the family magic's not the way? I'm thinking about little Ahnna. Awfully keen for the wizard's lessons, and she can do things. Odd things. Why..."

"I've seen it too. Small things. Well, I can't do anything of the sort, but it isn't as if she's Lermo the Great."

"She is his umpteenth-great granddaughter. On both sides," said Dickson.

"True, but I have trouble thinking my little daughter will grow up to be a spell-warrior, like those of old, considering her greatest magic was levitating biscuits she shouldn't have."

"She is young, yet. Could Lermo do more at that age? Could anyone? Furthermore, she has had a pampered life--pardon me for the truth--and has never been forced to exert herself in anything."

"I grant it's remotely possible," said Bonfort. "The old sundered family line spliced back together, her talent for magic and keen interest in it--and Lu tells me she does have a real talent. Hmm."

"Last thought, my liege, then I'll shut my yap. If we can think of these things, right or wrong, so can our enemies. She might become a target. They may have heard she has a gift: they have had spies everywhere, even in the court at Murran."

"Unsettling thought, to a father," Bonfort said. "Still, she's at Lurbridge now, safest place in the realm, and the queen has a big garrison. The castle at Lurbridge has never fallen while true men guarded it."

Again they rode in silence. Bonfort was absorbed with his own thoughts. Dickson admired the view. He liked the mountains. In fact he liked anyplace away from the smells, and intrigues, of cities and courts and palaces.

They had ridden a league and were well into a second when Bonfort stopped his horse and held up his hand. Horns blew, and the army stopped behind him. "Turn the army, Dickson. We're going to Lurbridge."

Getting signals sent, then uncrossed, and sending messengers to and fro, took the rest of the day, but before dark, Dickson was able to report the army would advance toward its new destination on the morrow. "So it's all set, including the scouts and the flank force of...our other friends. It feels like the right move, but may I ask what caused you to decide thus?"

"It was all you said, and something else besides. Do you remember the prophecy of the river woman? Oh, of course not, you weren't there at the time. I've been running it over in my mind. A very strange woman came to me with a shadowy message. Luren thinks it was a soothsayer, long known to the locals around the river, and Lu thinks the message is likely authentic, as well. These the words I remember:

Your kinsmen will not aid you
And all allies will be worthless.
An ancient tree will be split by the coming storm
But the shoot growing up from it will prove strongest.

'Tree of the West' is an old name for my family, or was: It has not been much used since the War of the Four. I wonder... Is that the tree to be split? My family? If so, is Ahnna the shoot growing up?"

"I'm no student of prophecy," said Dickson.

"Nor am I, but if all is well, it won't take us more than a fortnight's extra travel to go to Arvan's Crossing by way of Lurbridge. There was more the river woman said to me besides, but the words made no sense and I do not now remember them clearly. There was something about a golden-haired girl, and destiny, disturbing words, words of strong portent. But was it Ahnna the words referred to? Likely not, for after all, she's only a child. Anyway, I sense I'm doing the right thing. Onward to Lurbridge."

A gnome said to his friend, a wraith: "Hey, what's up with the king, tonight? I see him sharp and clear and bright! Something magical is ado, or I'm a bugbear's bugaboo!"

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46: The Ghost King -- The Mock People

2011-01-30T22:29:00.006-05:00

Luren was thrilled by the view from aloft. The pale light of dawn cast long shadows and showed the landscape in strong relief. She almost forgot to feel cold, because the sensation of flying was so gorgeous and the view was so beautiful.

Illustration courtesy http://harrypotter.wikia.com; released to the public domain

Her steed turned above the river to follow it back to the camp. "There's smoke ahead!" Luren said.

"That can't be good news," said the beast. It circled the camp and they saw that the main hall, built with so much labor, had burned, leaving only a part of one wall and a bit of a corner standing. "I don't see any enemies about now, though," said the hippogriff. It glided in and landed, its feet trotting in midair a moment before touchdown.

"Smooth landing!" said Luren.

"Well, I have been doing this all my life," it said.

Luren found Oscar, her father's enormous lieutenant. He told her what had happened. "Suprise raid in the night. Puckersore goblins, but they got creamed, but good. Spookies got 'em. Be surprised if any goblins got away."

"Anyone...hurt?"

"Nobody killed, for a blessing, on our side. I'm not even sure the ghoulies can die. But we have some people, human people I mean, folks like us, wounded and a few with burns. We were lucky."

The camp cook walked by, chuckling to himself. Luren looked at him and raised her eyebrows. He said, "That Lu! He's a character. You know what he told me? 'I don't like to critical, as a rule,' says he, ' but I rather thought I'd tell you my supper last night was burned, and so was everyone else's.' An' he said it with a straight face, like, but then we both started laughing. I've been laughing about it since."

"How are we fixed for meals now?" said Oscar.

"Well, it's going to be rough and plain, for a while. No linen tablecloth routine, I'm afraid, but the storehouses out back weren't harmed. I've got some porridge and bacon coming up, in half an hour, cookout style. Maybe I can scavenge enough bricks for a bread oven...we'll get by."

#

Though Bonfort had told them not to come, quite a number of the country people followed him into the mountains. There were perhaps a thousand, most of them farm youths, looking for adventure. Many, Bonfort supposed, would turn back when the going became harder, and probably all of them would leave in time to get back for spring planting.

"They'll stay long enough to get some stories to tell and then that'll be enough," said Dickson. "In a few generations, every bumpkin tagging along will be remembered as a great knight in the king's service!"

"At least they cannot soon speak ill of me," said Bonfort. "They think--most of them--that I am real and no ghost, and that's to the good."

"I just hope they don't blunder into something they can't handle, and get themselves killed. They're farm boys, not soldiers. Hardly a sword amongst the lot. They've got woodcutter's axes, hunting bows; why, I even saw a fellow packing a pitchfork. They've not a whit of training, of course."

"Who was it that said, 'Great heart will not be denied?'" said Bonfort.

"Don't recall, it's in some some offworld historian. It's a pretty obscure quote, but I've heard it. I see what you mean, but our informal escort of pimply goatherds cannot leave soon enough to suit me. I feel responsible for them, though they out are here against against your word and my own. They haven't counted the cost."

"Perhaps, Dickson, they will serve some role in honor, none the less, and gain great names for themselves."

"I'm sure they'd all like to think so," said Dickson.

The way into the mountains was steep and cold. Snow and ice underfoot caused stumbling of men and horses. The satyrs, with their sharp little hooves, had the best of the bad going, their feet digging into the ice as they skipped merrily along.

A mirror flashed in the distance. "We should slow down, Lord," said Dickson. "We're getting ahead of our flanking force of hoodoos."

"Hmm. Yes, make it so, but don't use that word, not even between ourselves. It is a bad habit to get into--the word might slip out when it could cause trouble."

"Yes sir. No 'G' word, no 'H' word. But have you heard what they call us?"

"What's that, Dickson?"

"Mock people!"

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45: The Ghost King -- Luren

2011-01-23T15:46:00.010-05:00

Luren rode by night into the mountains. It was very cold. Snow swirled around her. A full moon rode veiled in cloud, an indistinct disk of silver light.

She had ridden into the pines of the high country. The snow and the trees muffled sound. For the dark and the trees and the blowing snow she could not see far. So much the better. She did not want to be seen or heard. The snow would soon cover her horse's tracks.

'It's a fool's errand,' she told herself. But then she shrugged and laughed, and drew in a breath of the cold, clean air. 'That's never stopped me from doing anything,' she thought. A black shadow slid in front of the moon and she nodded to herself. 'Right on time.'

Her destination was a place few knew, just as its owner wanted it. It was a big stone house, or rather a castle built small, for it was fortified with corner towers, low ones, that could not be seen from afar, for the trees and the valley. She told herself again she was a foolish girl for coming here, and again she shrugged.

It was a simple plan. She would release the horse, it would know the way to go, and then she would be away home. In a pouch tied onto the saddle was gold to cover the overdue hire of the beast. And just maybe she would see something useful, something the resistance would want to know, while she was in the area.

'Stop lying to yourself, you silly tart,' she told herself. 'You're here because you hope to see him again. Just a glimpse. Even a glimpse. You still have feelings for the rat.'

But she told herself again, 'No decent person steals a horse. I am returning what I hired to the livery down the road.'

An arrow whizzed past her ear. That got her out of her reverie. She rolled off horseback, arms circling the horse's neck, smacked the rump and shouted "GO HOME!"

Then she hid in the forest.

A voice came out of the mist and snow. "But Luren, old darling, I am home. I was out hunting foxes, but here you are. A fox indeed!"

"Candrew, I hate you!"

"So you told me, when you poured a pisspot on my head and ran home to Daddy. It would have been much better had you stayed. I'm to be High King, haven't you heard? Queen Luren, High Queen Luren, that has such a nice ring. You always knew you were born for better things."

"Keep away from me!"

But he stepped out into the light of the moon. He had rewound his crossbow--It had a crank only on one side, for he was now one-handed--and put an arrow in it, but he smiled. "Just for old times, let's go into the castle for a chat. I'll mull some good wine with spices and we can, perhaps, renew our warmth of...friendship."

Luren ever after told herself that what happened next was a honest mistake. It is very difficult to shoot a longbow accurately. If you underestimate the distance you will invariably shoot low, and it is hard to estimate distance by moonlight. If you do not nock the arrow perfectly each time, that can also throw off your elevation. It was cold: Likely her fingers had slipped off the bowstring as she raised the bow. She meant to take his hat off, but her arrow hit him squarely between the legs, and he pitched forward with a keening scream.

"Goodbye, my love," she said, and she stretched her hands in the air and whistled. Gliding silently down, a hippogiff caught her up. and bore her away, into the air.

"Bless Queen Goronla," she said. "And bless you, by friend."

The creature, half griffin, half horse, said, "You are halfway like a faerie creature yourself. You look like one, tonight. Ours is a strange alliance. Get on my back, it's a long flight home."

© All rights reserved

44: The Ghost King -- Grueslayer

2011-01-16T12:56:00.001-05:00

"Ahnna! Wake up!" Bonfie's voice echoed hollowly underground.

"Wah? What is it?" she said sleepily.

"I don't know, but we'd better get set to run. There's something moving!"

"What, rats?" She yawned.

"No, Ahnna, something big!"

That got her attention. She was up in an instant and had her knapsack on. She picked up a stick of wood and spoke to it, and it became a flaming torch.

"What? How'd you do that?" Bonfie stared.

"Never mind. Something's coming!"

Around the tunnel bend came an enormous grey creature with fangs. Anhha shrieked. Bonfie stepped forward and extended his long dagger into the point-in-line position. The creature rushed at them.

It must have been sheer luck, or something even more mysterious, that guided Bonfie's blade; the dagger point entered the creature's left eye and penetrated deeply into its brain. The monster jerked back and then reared, but there was no order to its movements and it soon fell dead.

"Wow," said Bonfie. He stood there, trembling.

Ahnna stepped forward with a paring knife and cut off the creature's ears.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking the ears, of course," she said. "It's in all the stories. It's what one does."

An even bigger form appeared around the bend. "Ahnna, RUN!"

With Bonfie a step behind, she sprinted down the corridor. A left turn, a right turn, they did not keep track of where they were going. Finally they dashed around a turn--it was a dead end! It was a short blind tunnel only about a yard long and they dashed full tilt into the wall.

But they did not bounce off or hurt themselves. They felt a tingle all over their bodies and then, suddenly...

They were outdoors. It was a lovely spring day. The sun shone brightly. They stood before a rock face in hills that overlooked meadowland. Flowers were blooming riotously across the landscape.

"Ahnna, this is weird. It isn't right. Am I dreaming?"

"That's a good question, Bonfie. But I don't have a good answer. If you are dreaming this, or I am, wouldn't the dream me, or the dream you, say you saw it too?"

"It's winter. We were far underground. This makes no sense, and look there!" A shining white road led away from the cliff and wandered into the distance and out of sight.

"It's like the Old Roads back home," said Ahnna.

"Well, if we're dreaming we are sure to awaken soon. But I think we should get away from here, just in case. What if that thing comes charging out?

It was wonderful to be out in the open air and sunshine. Ahnna picked some flowers and put them in her hair.

She gave him the ears of the beast he had slain. They were still bloody on their cut edges. "These are for you, Bonfie. You must keep them, for they reflect very honorably on the one who earns them. They may be magical, but I'm not sure of that part."

"Bonfie Grueslayer," she said. "I like the sound of that!"

"That was a grue? Go on, those are only in stories and nursery rhymes."

"True stories, and true rhymes. I have read about grues, and seen a drawing in a book. There is doubt. You are a hero, Bonfie."

"Bonfie Grueslayer!" he said. "Wow!"

#

Bonfort continued to travel the countryside. The people, many of them, still believed he was an apparition, and in league with dark powers, but little by little he won over some.

"Some of them want to join the army," said Dickson. "I'm against it; these are country people. Come spring they will remember their planting and then they will desert."

"Quite likely." Bonfort looked across their temporary camp. A ring of country people, men and boys, mostly, stood round about and stared as satyrs danced to shrill music from panpipes.

The more frightening creatures of the alliance were kept well away from the public. The plan was to gently introduce the idea that creatures such as most of the people had never seen were, indeed, allies of Bonfort and against the goblins--though rumors had kept up with him that Bonfort was the master of horrid monsters. He was, but there was no sense emphasizing the point, as yet.

"What news from the western resistance, out at Arvan's Crossing?" said Bonfort.

"We got a bird in about them this morning. Grach translated what it said. They are well established in the area, bivouacked in the countryside, reasonably secure for the moment. But they are running only some minor raids, no campaigns of note. Mostly these raids are on the job training for later action--they're starting small. They managed to get a convoy of supplies that was intended for our enemies. A lot of it bore the shipping marks of our old friend Count Candrew."

"Well, I hope he gets stuck with the whole cost of what was taken," said Bonfort. "Here's how I hope to work our campaign from this point. We'll make a thrust westward and join up with the Arvan's Crossing resistance. I don't fancy crossing the mountains in winter, but I don't dare delay. In fact I think we should go over now. We'll need time to do some public relations as we go." He gestured at the dancing satyrs and the gawking locals.

"I still have a funny feeling about this," said Dickson. "About having the faerie folk on our side, I mean. They have never been on anyone's side. They even bicker amongst themselves, never mind the fears and misunderstandings they've engendered with our sort, over the years."

"I understand, Dickson, but I feel we must give the arrangement a fair trial. It's never been so before: We don't know if it can work or not. They are strange. Yes, 'otherworldy' is the right word. But here they are among us. Anyway our little army doesn't have the strength, at this point, to get on without them."

"Well, it's not the first time a common foe has brought together unlikely forces. The faeriefays have sometimes aided mankind before. Just not like this: side by side in an army, dancing cheek to cheek with them, as it were. Maybe I'm just too much the old horseman. I feel, somewhere deep down, that something that spooks the horses is bound to be wrong somehow."

"Perhaps. But a shirt flapping on a clothesline is enough to spook horses, and there's nothing sinister about it. We must hope for the best."

"Yes sir," Dickson said.

© All rights reserved

43: The Ghost King -- Old books are best

2011-01-09T22:48:00.002-05:00

The wizard Lu peered through his magnifying glass. "I say! I can't make heads or tails of this!"

Ingdor the elf looked over his shoulder. "It is written very small," he said. "It's hard to read that way. It will be easier if you turn the book upside down."

"Oh! Of course," said Lu. "Upside down and backwards, and written very small on the last page. It's a well known way of hiding a secret: so old everyone forgets it. So few read to the end of a book. But I still can't read it."

"High Elvish," said Ingdor. "Instead of beginning at the start of a sentence, you start in the middle and read outwards."

"Ah. Yes, now I have it. Instead of 'secrets aplenty be there yet' we would say 'there are plenty secrets.' So: 'There are still many secrets not herein described; the key to their lock is the word of the law.'"

"That is the correct translation, agreed, but it still doesn't make sense," said Ingdor.

"Patience, old friend. Now that we know the ending, we should read the book through."

The book was a curious one, an unknown script with the Elvish translation on facing pages. Lu rummaged in his cloak and brought out a parchment. "I made this rubbing ages ago, in the dead city across the river, hoping to find something to match it with. It looks like the same language."

"Wait, I will be back, I have to go get something," said Ingdor.

Lu hummed and looked at the book, then went to the window to look at the stars. A tap came at the door.

"What is it?"

"Dinnertime, sir. Will you come down, or have things sent up?"

"Oh, thanks, we're busy here, send me a beefsteak and potato, and soup and crackers for the elf. And ask Luren to join us."

"Lady Luren has left the camp. No word when she'll be back. Sour cream on the potato?"

Lu paused in thought so long the servant repeated, "Sour cream, sir, or just the butter?"

"Oh, yes, butter will do very well!"

The reputation of wizards to be absentminded is in general justified. In this case it is perhaps excusable as well, for Lu was thinking several things at once. He had first met Luren after emerging from caves and tunnels with this same mysterious writing carved in their walls. Did she know anything of use about the tunnels? She had pointed a bow at them. She had looked ready to shoot Bonfort or kiss him, at first sight, and undecided which to do, and of course they had not been friends since. Bonfort had gone to war, and Luren had left at the same time. Where was she, and could she shed any light on the nature or history of the tunnels? Drat the girl, gone when he needed to know something about the tunnels!

At the same time he was thinking that the home-brewed sour cream was not very good, here.

Such are the thought processes of wizards. It is why wizards are white in their hair and beards, and why they are sometimes not prompt about answering waiters.

Ingdor returned. "This document was in the possession of the traitor elf." He spoke as if the pronouncing the last words was difficult. He laid it beside the book and Lu's parchment.

"Not the same writing, but similar," said Lu. "Age--time period--might explain the change in lettering. Humans now write in a more modern lettering than formerly. I suppose everyone else does too, elves excepted. Mortal races have no need to keep orthography the same forever. Of course if an elf came back to life and found he couldn't read the books, he'd be much hampered!"

"So," said Ingdor. "Our first conclusion is the users of this script are mortal or were."

"Were mortal? Can that change?"

"They could have all died. That is why I said 'were mortal.'"

"Oh."

"So then," said Ingdor. "We have the Elvish, which we know how to read, and the parallel passages in the unknown tongue. Overleaf, a pronunciation guide--I have never found these to be accurate--the strange language's first letter seems to be 'hock.'"

"'Keed', second letter," said Lu.

"Third letter, 'mah,'" said Ingdor.

When the dinner cart arrived the waiter pushing it found elf and wizard reciting the strange alphabet, "Hock, keed, mah, kwen, soo, aah..." It sounded like they had lost their minds, so he left quickly.

"Will you have some of this steak and potato?" Lu said.

"No, soup is all I want--you ordered well. I don't understand humans eating a big meal in the evening. Morning's the time for that."

"So the elves say. When I visited your world they thought I was ill--all I ever want for breakfast is toast and tea."

They continued to work as they ate dinner. Lu said, "The translation is thought for thought, not word for word, apparently. Look at this long sentence rendered by just three words in the Elvish. We will need to find words common to two or more phrases to isolate words in their context."

"We should make a dictionary. It will need to be a suppositional one, changing as we find new usages or shades of meaning."

"Even keeping hard at it, it will be slow work," said Lu. "We may be at it all winter, if we are to learn to read this language."

"Still I sense it is work that needs doing," said Ingdor. "The tunnels might be used to our advantage if we understood the signs along the way."

Outside, guards raised an alarm: Bells rang, horns blew. There was shouting. Elf and wizard grabbed their swords and ran outdoors.

An attack was underway. Goblins had breached the palisade and were racing toward the main hall of the encampment. They carried torches and lit flaming arrows from them. They formed ranks and shot flight after flight of arrows into the wooden hall. It began to burn.

The line of goblins wavered and then they began to flee. Something horrible was happening to them. Night creatures, terrible and nearly invisible in the darkness, were biting and devouring them, seizing them, pulling them limb from limb. Those goblins that survived the first few moments broke ranks and fled into the darkness, and not one of them was ever seen again.

"'...Ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night...'" muttered Lu.

"Indeed, said Ingdor. "I never thought I would like having such allies, but I now think our camp safer by night than anywhere hereabouts."

Men were bringing water in buckets from the river, to douse the fire in the great hall, but the fire was gaining on them. "The book! cried Ingdor, and began to sprint toward the building.

Lu called after him "Stop, Ingdor. You cannot go into the fire. Besides, there is no need."

"You have the book?"

"Why no. Wizards are absentminded, everyone knows that. I had no thought to grab the book when we left. Besides, I had no way of knowing there would be a fire. The book is right where we left it."

"Then..."

"Watch," said Lu, "And see the secret of the wizard's cloak." He closed his eyes, spread forth his hands toward the flames and quietly chanted. Then he opened his eyes and smiled. He took out the book from a pocket within his cloak, then the two other pages of strange writing. "The book's rather warm," he said. "And one of the parchments is scorched on one edge. Well then, we can go on with our work." The fire continued to burn.

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42: The Ghost King -- Weird Army

2011-01-02T16:47:00.005-05:00

It takes quite a lot of effort to put an army into the field. Bonfort's presented unusual challenges. The cavalry was massing at the far end of the encampment. They needed to be kept separate from the eldritch folk. The horses were skittish around the strange creatures the men had taken as allies. The horses were, though, comfortable around the centaurs, who tried repeatedly to explain to them the alliance of worldly and otherworldly forces. But horses, though wise in some things, are none too flexible in their viewpoints.

Provisioning was another problem. What do satyrs eat, or spoorns? Not that Bonfort had a great store of provisions of any kind. "I don't see what we can do," said Bonfort, "but to move the sections separately, in parallel when we can, then by alternating bounds when we must."

Dickson said, "I want to see the merry hell that happens when we put our spooks among the enemy's horse troops."

"Ha. That should be a good one," said Bonfort. "But we must start out small, limiting our engagements to very small ones until we see how this army shakes down. The Lessons of Lermo: 'The surest way to succeed is to not attempt too much.'"

King Bonfort rode down the line of horsemen drawn up behind him. "Brunn? I thought you would stay and manage things here."

"I left my lieutenants in charge. They'll handle things at this end. I got to thinking, I always wanted to be mentioned in the songs and tales. Here's my chance--I'm not getting any younger."

Bonfort thought about sending him back. But the man's heart was in the right place even though his hair was departing, and he could still fight. "Right then." In the back of his mind an unwelcome thought began yammering and he thrust it down. He wished someone would order him to stay in camp.

But a king is supposed to lead and it was time to do that. He rode to the head of the cavalry and blew a horn.

Horns from the army answered him, and from the magic folk, an assortment of snorts, wails and cries. A giant pounded an enormous drum. They were off.

He saw a sharp flickering light far ahead of the army. Farwalker advance scouts were checking in using mirror flashes. "Way clear, come ahead."

The weather was damp and chilly. The leaves were off the trees; they could see a long way around them. On the second day they came to a small village. Bonfort took a column of horsemen through it at a walk, as men before him cried out, "The High King Bonfort has come." The villagers remained indoors and peered through their windows.

But when Bonfort had camped for the evening, country people from miles around came to look. Goronla's strange creatures were kept out of sight, behind a hill. "I've never understood it," said Bonfort, "But sometimes news travels faster in the country than in the city. Give it a week and every villager and freeholder will know about us."

"So will every goblin," said Dickson. "Things will get rough soon."

As Bonfort had said, news spread quickly as he went about with heralds proclaiming him as the king, at this and that village and farm. By the time he turned toward the principal town of the district, everyone knew he was on his way there.

The ambush, when it came, was expected and thus soon broken up. The scouts saw the goblins lying in wait, flashed their mirrors and the plan went into effect.

Bonfort's infantry advanced. He and the other horsemen dismounted and went in on foot. When the fight was well engaged, Goronla's folk broke into the battle from the side, so that the goblins were hit from two directions at once.

Bonfort, in the thick of it, swinging his great two-handed sword, got two goblins and found three more closing in on him. He backed up. The goblins looked at each other and then looked about them in puzzlement. He cut one of them down and turned to the others, but the goblins did nothing. They could not see him! They fled; he went after them. Then they pointed at him and shouted. They could see him now! He retreated and again his enemies stopped in bafflement.

Of course! He had stepped onto a stretch of the Old Roads, and he still wore his pendant, with its virtued stone that gave invisibility on the Roads. He kept carefully on the road, walked along it until he was near the goblin chief, and snipped his head off.

The enemy was soon routed. "Well then, Dickson, it's time for Plan A, wouldn't you say?"

The plan was that the two would slip into town incognito to sample the news and gossip. Bonfort took off his royal attire and put on borrowed clothes.

The common room at the inn was abuzz with talk of the battle, which was the most exciting thing to have happened in a generation.

"Now I know why they're calling him the ghost king," said an old farmer. "I saw it myself, or I wouldn't believe it, and I'm not too sure I want to believe it. He really is a ghost! He vanished, POP! Just like that, then he reappeared, and what's more, he's in league with werewolves, and spoorns, and all other manner of creatures of the dark. Ghost king for sure!"

Aside and quietly, Bonfort said, "Not a very promising start to our campaign, eh? Now the people will be more convinced than ever that I am, indeed, a ghost."

Suddenly Bonfort began to laugh out loud. His sides shook.

"Hey now, neighbor, that's not very nice!" said the farmer. "I know it sounds daft, but if you don't believe it, it only means you weren't there!"

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41: The Ghost King -- Grand Alliance

2010-12-26T16:50:00.002-05:00

Bonfort said, "Good heavens, Dickson; what's frightening the horses?" Outside there was a fearful racket of bolting steeds. They went out to find the cause of the commotion.

A long, very long procession of otherworldly creatures was making its way up the road, through the gate and into the encampment. Lu was at the head of the procession. "I met them as they were on the way here," he said.

The ogre next to Lu said, bowing low, “Bonfort King, we have come far to join our forces with yours. For we are the eldritch folk of Goronla, such as could find no peace in our own lands, and no useful opportunities to make war there, either. So we came, with our queen's blessing. Where is the war? For we mean to be in it.”

The ogre, Bonfort noted uneasily, was carrying a huge, knobbed club and patting it against his thickly callused palm.

“The war will be starting soon,” said Bonfort. “It would start the sooner, had not all our horses run away.”

A young centaur stepped out of ranks and came trotting up. “I will go after them, Lord. I know how to talk to them.” Bonfort nodded and the creature sped off, taking companions with him.

Bonfort knew what to do on occasions like this, though he had never met with one quite like this one before. He began to give a speech of welcome. “Friends well met,” he began, “I am pleased to see you now in our hour of need. Your people and ours have long had misunderstandings between us. Let is now put those aside, knowing that more than half of what each has heard about the other is tall tales and legends grown distorted...”

But far back in the ranks, creatures began remarking, “What did he say? I can't hear. Did you hear him?” A banshee cried loudly, “Could you speak up, King sir?”

Bonfort tried again, shouting as loud as he could. “The fear and misunderstandings between our folk are of long standing, but now it is time to set aside past suspicions to fight the common foe...”

But still those in the back could not hear him. So he said to those in front, “Say this: Welcome to the fight. Pass it along the ranks.”

He turned and went back indoors, as the otherworldly throng cheered loudly.

“Skies above, Dickson, what do you make of this? Ogres? Giants? Centaurs? And who knows what-all else.”

"A strange alliance, for sure. It will take some time and thought to figure out how to employ them--where they fit in. I've never commanded korreds or fought alongside ogres, have you? Anyway they're here now. Here timely, too, if you still want to open a campaign this winter.”

“I do, Dickson. We must move now, for time is increasingly on the enemy's side. Before long—if it is not so already—we, not they, will be the insurgents. Time lets them get their propaganda out, consolidate control, saddle the people with taxes and duties to render service, and so on."

“I don't like moving troops in winter, though, my liege. Too easy to track them, when snow is on the ground. A good point about it, though, is the harvests are in now and the planting is still far off. The country people will have time to come out and see us, and tell their neighbors.”

“That's to the good, surely,” said Bonfort. “The propaganda war is the biggest obstacle we face, or one of the biggest. If the enemy succeeds in portraying me as the ghost king, a myth and a superstition... But blast it all! Our enemy knows as well as I do that I'm real, alive, and no bumpkins' tale.”

“Knowing's not telling, in this case,” said Dickson. “Of course when people say they have seen you, our foes will say they have seen an imposter. This puts us in the position of saying no, there was an imposter before, but you see before you the genuine article. And how does that sound? None too convincing!”

“We're in quite a bind, no doubt about that,” said Bonfort. “Good wins in the end, though. We must trust truth will out.”

“Aye, it always does. It will this time. But soon enough to help us? That's the question.”

There came a knocking and scratching at the door. Dickson called out, “Who's there?”

“Messenger from Queen Goronla.”

The creature who entered was by the look of her a wood nymph, beautiful at first sight but disquieting as they looked upon her. Something in her expression, her glances, was strange, unearthly. She handed Bonfort a leather pouch, and said, “A letter is within and a book.” She then turned and walked out.

“How do you like that?” said Bonfort. “Not so much as a curtsy or a 'hail king' for me. Not that I insist on a lot of formality, but...”

“Technically she's within protocol, I suppose,” said Dickson. “At least as she sees it. After all, you're not her king. I'm not even sure her kind looks on us as part of the real world, more like we are strange visitors from another reality—well, never mind. I met some of her sort while journeying in a far forest, long ago. You never get used to the eyes, which look at you but seem to be seeing into another world.”

“Hmm. Strange girl, anyhow! Let's see what Goronla has sent.”

Dear Bonfort, my ally in the fight,

I am sending along this book. Lu the great wizard inquired of me some time back, to ask if I had anything of the sort, but I have only now been able to put my hand on it. I hope it brings him the help he hopes it will.

I trust I am not burdening your hospitality by sending you some of my people. I cannot use them here but I hope to have things in order here to aid you when you come westward.

Best wishes and may fortune favor the right.

Goronla ha Tentitee, Queen of Faerie, Queen of the Night, Destiny's Handmaiden, etc. etc.

P.S. Keep an eye on the satyrs, for they tend make trouble everywhere. G.

Lu was delighted with the book, which had Elvish script on the left pages and a strange writing on the facing pages. “You remember that writing we found underground, and in the abandoned city, across the river, the stuff we couldn't read? If this is not the same language, it is a related one. I should be able to puzzle things out to a pretty good degree by looking at the Elvish translation. I'll be in my room, if you need me.”

“He seems very pleased,” said Bonfort.

“He didn't say what good he hopes to get out of being able to read the old language,” Dickson said.

“Well, one thing's for certain, having friends to help you is a fine thing, particularly when you have enemies.”

“With ogres and satyrs for friends...”

“Don't say it, Dickson. They come for war alongside us. I feel their earnest good faith, as common cause will bring with it. This is the first time their peoples and our people have worked together side by side since...come to think of it, I can't recall that it's ever happened before.”

"Aye, and we'll be the first to know how it works," Dickson said darkly.

© All rights reserved

The Story To Date: Chapters 31-40

2010-12-19T10:45:00.002-05:00

Chapter 31, "Birds of a Feather." Grach, the enormous, intelligent rook, searches for his friend Dickson and the Farwalkers, the elite spies of the realm, and finds them in the wilderness. Grach brings news that the eldritch creatures of Queen Goronla have been routed and are in hiding. Dickson and two of his companions are duped and drugged by witches. They are rescued by the rest of the Farwalkers, but not before they have been used to father witch-children.

Chapter 32, "Why?" The Farwalkers are attacked by goblins appearing magically upon the mysterious Old Road. The goblins are led by an elf, an unimaginable development: The elves oppose all the goblins stand for. Markus, Goronla's tiny golden assassin fairy, saves Dickson's life. The goblins are routed.

Chapter 33, "Outer Candon." Dickson remains baffled by the question of why an elf would be in league with goblins. While scouting in the remote area he believes the king has fled to, he is met by Lu the Wizard, who assured him the king is alive and well.

Chapter 34, "Plans Within Plans, and Kitchen Gossip." Bonfort sends a message to Goronla, Queen of Faerie, trying to draw together the vague alliance of resistance forces--the humans and the faerie folk. Bonfort goes hunting and finds his companion troublesome. Back at Bonfort's keep at Murran Court, Polly the cook hears a rumor that Bonfort lives after all and finds she believes it.

Chapter 35, "The Devil's Coin." A council of the resistance forces discusses and tries to understand the strange philosophy of the invaders. What could motivate people to abandon laws and customs of long standing and embrace a treasonous creed?

Chapter 36, "A Mystery and a Mission." Bonfort ponders the nature of the propaganda against him. Then he practices his swordsmanship with Dickson. The men of the encampment then take to fencing practice among themselves. Observing them, Bonfort and Dickson decide to offer them better training than they have received before.

Chapter 37, "Visions In The Dark." Goronla, the queen of faerie creatures, uses scrying to see events around the realm. Disheartened, she seeks counsel from an old and wise friend. She receives a lesson in the nature of freedom.

Chapter 38, "Kings and Crowns." Bonfort finds the answer to the riddle of why the other kings of the realm have not come to his aid or opposed the invaders. The answer is brought to him by a knight errant, charged--officially--to tell the commoners that Bonfort is dead. But Sir Rollo guesses the truth and comes looking for Bonfort instead.

Chapter 39, "Cave of Echoes." Princess Ahnna and her friend Bonfie Twelvepersons take refuge from the cold by going far underground. They find their way into a tunnel system marked by indecipherable writing. Ahnna finds and old book in her own language and begins to teach Bonfie to read.

Chapter 40, "Funeral for an Elf." Ingdor presides at the funeral rites for the corrupted elf that led the goblin attack against Dickson and the Farwalkers. On the way back he and his friends discuss the human view of spirituality and its differences from the Elvish.

King Bonfort is in exile at the edge of his kingdom. The other kings, his sworn allies, are of no help to him, for they are held under a spell by the evil sorcerer Mograsom. Queen Jessica, Bonfort's wife, is held prisoner in her own castle. Their daughter, Princess Ahnna, is on the run, hiding from goblins, in the company of a strange boy who has twelve fathers who are now deceased.

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40: The Ghost King -- Funeral of an Elf

2010-12-11T14:43:00.002-05:00

"Do you want me to go with you, Ingdor?" Bonfort's face showed concern.

"No. Thank you, my friend. You have much you must to do here. I'll take Lu and Dickson." Ingdor held in his slender hands the tokens Dickson had taken from the elf that attacked the Farwalkers. Ingdor's heart was heavy. "Never, and I have lived long, have I seen a symbol like this worn by an elf. It is against everything we stand for and believe." He held up the pendant with the symbol of the Dark.

"Must you go?"

"I must if the rite is to be performed."

They took fast horses. The next afternoon they found the spot where the combat had taken place. The Farwalkers had buried the bodies hurriedly. Dickson said, "I'm sorry, Ingdor. I don't recall which mound it was..."

"It is this one," said Ingdor. He began to dig.

The ruined head and the slender frame of the corpse left no doubt.

"Glad it's been cold weather," said Dickson.

"Yes," said Ingdor. "He's more than ripe as he is. No worse smell, is there?"

In the trees Ingdor found creeping vines and pulled them down. He brought back a great armload of them and then another. He placed them atop the corpse. Then he began to sing, and as he sang the vines began to move, as if of themselves. They twined around the body, slowly turning and twisting, until the dead elf was bound up head to toe in a shroud of green.

That done, Ingdor sang a the Song of Parting, which was very long. Then he shrugged. "Help me bury him again, will you?"

The body was soon in the ground again. Ingdor saw that the others looked at him as if uncertain what to say. So he said to Dickson, "What about your own man, the one who was killed? Should we do something for him as well?"

"Not necessary. I buried him in the name of the Great Mystery and of the Truth That Is To Come, for such were his beliefs. It is a simple faith with short rites."

"It is a good faith, it seems to me," said Ingdor. "I would follow it myself, I think, if elves were mortal. Our way is different, the way of rebirth, a path which your kind cannot follow. Is there water about, a stream? I want to wash." And though the day was cold, he took off his clothes and bathed. Afterward he felt better and he dressed and rejoined the others.

Dickson said, "There are some humans who believe they shall be reincarnated, as are the elves."

"They speak in ignorance," said Ingdor. "They took this idea from us, for it appealed to them, but I wonder if they would like it so well if they knew all it entailed. A philosopher on a far world, a place not easily reached from this one, called death 'the gift of the One to mortals.' I think he spoke truly."

Lu put in, "Whatever lies beyond for mankind, it is not the Elvish fate. We wizards, though longeval to quite a degree, die eventually and do not come back. We too believe in the Truth to Come." It seemed to Ingdor that he was about to say more, but then fell silent.

"I'm surprised you bothered with this fellow's body," said Dickson. "Traitor, you know. Never mind attacking my men, there might be another explanation for that, though I doubt it, but to go over to the goblins? That's treason!"

"Traitor or not, he is an elf," said Ingdor. "It was proper to observe the rite. Elves bury elves, if at all they can. In any case what I did cannot change his fate. It speeds his passage, no more, to the next incarnation. If Vengeance is to strike him, it will when he returns. I feel certain it shall."

He was silent a while, then spoke again. "I am hoping the elves can locate him again, to question him about this business. Problems come to mind, though. Will he be still corrupted, after he is reborn? If he is not, if he has come to himself again, will he even be able to give a lucid account of what twisted his soul? But if he is corrupt still, will he hide his evil nature from us and go on to more depravity? Another part of my answer to you, Dickson, is I really don't know what I should or shouldn't do in a situation like this. We've never had one before."

They rode away. After some miles Ingdor spoke again. "Speak to me of your faith, Dickson, for I find it interesting, and thinking of it comforts me when I remember humans I have known, who now are not with us."

"Not much to it, really," said Dickson. "We perceive a great mystery around us. We sense it and know its presence in the difference between right and wrong, and in experiencing beauty or truth, and in the order of nature...well, in everything, really. There are true and fitting and wonderful things and also corrupt falsehood, base dealing and other evils. One sort of thing is preferable to the other. But only an arrogant man would claim we know much about it all. So we say the mystery will be revealed one day. It would seem the One wants to keep us wondering about it for now. In time the matter will be opened and explained to us fully. Until then it is wiser to keep on wondering, than to make up things."

"Little to it, you say?" said Ingdor. "It seems to me you have said much that is truth and very deep."

Lu said, "It is the faith of most hereabout, at least among those who bother with religion at all. There are other beliefs, of course. But the faith's motto, 'Do good to summon good, and trouble not over the names of spirits' seems to cover most situations."

"And you believe in this Way as well?" Ingdor asked.

"I do. So do all the wizards, so far as I know. All say they do. If you look at it in one way, it is the only religion the facts allow us, unless and until someone were to come down to us from heaven and speak of his own knowledge. We have only slender clues: scraps of prophecy, reports of visions, and the like, some from abroad, some nearer home, and some things that seem true because we reason they are so. What we can piece together points forward in time to the day of the Truthbringer, when we can stop wondering. Until then, it is clearly better to do good things than bad, because we don't like bad things when they are done to us. But the One only knows how far off the mark we are. Who knows what more God might ask of us?"

"There's only one trouble," Dickson said.

"Oh?" said Ingdor. "It sounds like the finest of creeds, to me."

"That it may be." said Dickson. "It's the best I've ever heard. But none of us lives up to it every day without fail. That's the rub. Think what a fine world it would be if we did."

Again, Lu was about to say something but checked himself, Ingdor thought.

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39: The Ghost King -- Cave of Echoes

2010-12-05T14:56:00.001-05:00

Princess Ahnna was as cold as she had ever been in her life. Overnight it had snowed and the snow had drifted into the cave.

"I've heard if you get way down underground, like in tunnels or mines, the temperature stays the same year round. The men work without coats on, even in winter," said young Bonfie Twelvepersons.

Princess Ahnna's teeth were chattering. "That. . .sssounds. . .nnnice," she said. They took candles and food with them and set out exploring.

"Faugh," said Ahnna. The first tunnel they followed led only to a latrine.

They followed many dead ends. At last they found a downward-sloping track that they followed for a long way before it ended. At its end was a T intersection. "Look about for writing," she said.

"Here's some, but I don't know how to read," said Bonfie.

"I can read, but I can't read this; the letters are strange."

"I wish we had string," said Bonfie.

"Whatever for?" said Ahnna.

"Tie one end up here so we can find our way back. I heard about it in a story."

"Oh. It would be bad to get lost. Was there some chalk in the supplies we found?"

"Yeah, but it's all the way back at the cave." Back they went, got several good sized lumps of chalk and still more candles and food.

Back at the underground intersection, Ahnna said "I wish I knew what the signs mean. But, anyway, the left way leads down; I suppose we should go that way." A little way into the left hand tunnel, she stopped and drew a large letter "A" on the wall, and an arrow pointing back to the intersection.

They continued, ever downward, until they came to an intersection where, it seemed, both paths leading away were level and straight.

"Flip a coin," said Bonfie. Ahnna took out a coin and held it in her hands, whispering to it. "What's that about?" said Bonfie.

"You speak a little charm for luck to the coin, then you flip it. Of course."

"I never heard of that. Isn't it kind of like cheating?"

"Certainly not," she said. "Heads is right, tails is left." The coin spun in the air and she let it fall to the floor. But it landed edgeways and rolled into the tunnel on the right.

"Must be heads," Bonfie said. And indeed, when they found the coin, it had turned up heads, King Bonfort's image looking serenely stern.

Ahnna began weeping.

"What on earth? What's the matter?" Bonfie asked. "Come on, don't go all to pieces."

"I miss my daddy. I miss my mommy. On a lesser but still notably poignant level I miss clean clothes, hot baths and pudding! And being warm."

He put an arm around her and gave her a little hug. "Does the air seem any warmer yet? I think maybe it does. We should go on." After perhaps half a league, the path turned downward once more.

Many turns and chalk marks later they came to a vast open space beneath the ground. Their candles lit only a little way before them. "Ho!" Bonfie called.

"Ho. . . Ho. . ." said the echo.

"My goodness," said Ahnna. She pointed to a column of stone; it looked strangely liquid, as it it had been poured, though it was solid and hard. It reached from floor to ceiling. Behind it was a thin curtain of stone that looked as if it had been hung as a drape. More of the pillars hung down suspended from the ceiling or jutted up from the floor. "It's so strange," she said.

"At least it isn't freezing cold," Bonfie said. "We should rest, and tomorrow start bringing all our stuff down here."

In the end it took several days to move their cache of supplies underground. Then they went exploring. The cave with the strange hanging stones seemed to go on forever and ever. The place made Ahnna uncomfortable, though. She could not say why. So they spent much of their time exploring and marking the bored tunnels that honeycomed the area.

"I wish we could read the tunnel signs," Ahnna said. "Then we wouldn't need the chalk marks. I know two kinds of script, Telotrian and Elvish, and I was starting to learn a third, but this writing is like nothing I have seen."

"Hah. It all looks alike to me," said Bonfie.

He went off to get them some lunch, but when he was several turns along the way, Ahnna heard him angrily and loudly using the most abominable language. "Bonfie?" she called. Then she heard him laughing. He came back around the bend.

"The ceiling glows, Ahnna! Faint, but you can see by it. I dropped my candle and it went out, and I went down on my knees to grope for it, but I found it by looking. By looking! That shouldn't be--everyone knows it's totally dark underground." He blew out her candle.

"Hey!" she said. But the dark that enveloped them wasn't quite dark and as her eyes adjusted she found she could see, dimly it was true, but without her candle.

Only the tunnels had this strange light, they found; the echoing cave with its hanging stones was as black within as the inside of a lump of coal, as were the natural passages leading in and out of it.

As this new discovery of light in the tunnels was entirely mysterious, and they could conclude nothing when they thought about it, they had lunch.

"I've been thinking, Ahnna," said Bonfie. "All the chalk marks we've made, maybe they aren't such a good idea. Someone could follow them down and find us. Perhaps we should rub them out, at least the ones higher up."

"But what if we forget the way out? I see what you are saying, and I have no desire to invite goblins to share the place, but it wouldn't do to be lost down here. It's a double-edged thing, and anyway, if somebody finds us, it could be friends not foes."

"Hmm. Well, let's think it over--being stuck down here would be pretty lousy. I'm still worried, though, that we left a trail behind us."

In the days that followed they explored farther into the tunnels and Ahnna found a book. It was not written in the strange script that marked the tunnels. It was a book she knew. It was in archaic language but her own tongue. She needed a candle to read it, for the light of the tunnels was not quite bright enough to read by.

"Bonfie, would you like learn to read? We have a book now. I can teach you."

"Never had a use for reading, but I guess so. There's nothing else to do in this place."

So she began. "Letters stand for sounds. This is an 'A'" -- she sketched it in chalk on the floor. "'Ahnna' starts with 'A'. 'Bonfie' starts with 'B'. . . "

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38: The Ghost King -- Kings and Crowns

2010-11-28T16:38:00.002-05:00

"Our great hope now," said Lu the wizard, "is in unexpected turns of circumstance, that shift matters rather more in our favor. But, since the unexpected always happens, we have every reason to hope."

"To hope? To hope what?" said Luren.

"Why, we don't know that. If we did, we would know what fortune's unexpected stroke would bring. But then, of course, it wouldn't be unexpected."

Ingdor the elf smiled, for this was just the sort of reasoning he enjoyed, but Luren looked uncertain.

"Riders coming in!" cried a voice above them, a lookout in a guard tower.

"Ingdor, can you make out who they are?" said Lu.

"Their banners and surcoats are blue, with white trim--they're from Lormeen. I can't quite make out faces at this distance."

"Someone get the king," said Lu. Luren went to do so.

Foreign visitors were unusual out here, on the edge of the realm, so everyone was interested. The everyday matters of seeing to the travelers' horses and meeting the new arrivals was surrounded by a great many more people than usual and the air buzzed with questions. The arriving party consisted of about a dozen men led by a knight.

"All your questions, friends, will be answered presently," cried the dashing knight from Lormeen, smiling. "First I must speak to whomever is in charge, though. That's protocol. I will say, however, that there is quite a nice herd of deer roaming about a league southwest of here. I wish I had the time to hunt them; maybe you can."

Lu looked carefully at the knight. Ingdor said, "How do we know this is not a spy--another killer?"

"Well, we don't for certain, but I don't get that sense from him...wait. I've seen him before. Haven't you?"

Soon Sir Rollo, for that was the knight's name, was led indoors. Brunn said to him, "Have a seat. We have some questions. Not many ride out this far and we like to know why, when someone does." Brunn sat down behind the table; Lu, Ingdor and Luren took their places with him. King Bonfort was seated already.

Rollo grinned and looked as if he would break out in laughter any moment. "I am ridden out from my castle, my lords, your ladyship, to put down the rumor that Bonfort the king lives. I am to tell the commoners that there is no truth to the rumor they have been hearing, and spreading." His sides shook and tears glinted in his eyes, so hard was he suppressing laughter. "It occurred to me that even people afar off should hear this important proclamation, which I am charged to give. So I rode out here to give it." Looking at Bonfort, he could contain himself no longer, and burst out into a resounding belly laugh. "Forgive me. I served last year at Murran Court, and knew the king by sight, and spoke to him, so of course I am distraught at the news of his demise." He guffawed again.

"That is your whole mission?" said Lu. "To quash a rumor?"

"Yes, and I am glad of it. I need not, and shall not, take notice of any other ideas than the official ones. The king is dead and that's what is official. It would be madness to go back and say, he lives after all. I can take no official notice beyond my orders in this case." He smirked.

"But enough pretending," he said. "I suspected when I head the rumors. I was the more suspicious when my king gave me my orders--for since when does a king bother with country rumors? I noticed that the rumors grew stronger--more frequent and certain--as I traveled north and east. So I triangulated and wound up here. I have given my message. The king is dead." He went to the door and clapped his hands. His men came in bearing heavy leather bags and stacked them on the table, then departed. "And my goodness, I'm growing forgetful, leaving these sacks behind... Why, already I can't remember where I left them, or what was in them."

Brunn cut the cords that tied one of the bags shut. "Gold!" he said.

Sir Rollo looked at Bonfort again. "I am a knight and I take my orders seriously. I will tell everyone I meet there is no High King, for those are my orders. I think I'll try over the river, next."

"There are no people there," said Bonfort.

"Ideal!" said Rollo. "That's just the kind of place I'm looking for--and just the sort of audience this message deserves."

"Aren't you already out of your jurisdiction?" Bonfort asked, smiling.

"I lost my map. Quite the mishap, I was lighting a fire...anyway the frontiers are not well marked out this far. Wiser trailsmen than I have gotten turned around, out here."

"Your attention to your duties is very commendable," said Bonfort, now laughing himself. "Even if your navigation is not. For it can never be said that you were not exact and precise in carrying out your assigned duties. Indeed, you have brought your message those most in need of your words."

"Thank you, sir, whomever you may be," said Rollo with a wink. "It is important to keep a clear conscience in such matters, particularly with sorcery about, prying into words and motives. I'm glad I can give a straight answer to anyone who should be...curious. I simply delivered my assigned message wherever I went."

"Good!" said Bonfort. "What can you tell me of how things are at Lormeen Court, these days? I have an...acquaintance there, the King of Lormeen, a kinsman of the late High King."

"The king, yes. He speaks but seldom these days."

"That I find hard to believe," said Bonfort.

"Yes, it's quite a change, to all of us at court. 'King Magpie.' And he always wears his crown. Never takes it off."

Lu stirred. "Never takes off his crown," he said. "Curious."

"The bedchamber staff say he sleeps with it on."

"Most curious," said Lu. "Sleeps with it. And wears it every day. Formerly the crowns were seen only on high state occasions."

"Thank you, Sir Rollo," said Bonfort. "Thanks for your diligence in delivering your proclamation, however far you needed to travel to do so." He waved his hand at the sacks of gold. "And your 'forgetfulness.' You and your men should get something to eat and drink. Try the ale; it's very good, despite being country made, or maybe because of it. Oh: and you need not tell the rest of the camp of your proclamation; your duty is discharged in telling us here; your message is honorably delivered."

Rollo bowed sweepingly to all present and departed, his step light.

"What a peculiar man!" said Luren.

"Not so," said Lu. "He spoke rightly about sorcery and prying. He protected himself, and us, with that bizarre charade."

"And now we know why the lesser kings have not turned out to fight," said Bonfort.

"We do?" said Lu.

"I think we do. Dickson reported that the Crown of Lermo was stolen. The Crown of Lermo speaks through thoughts, each to each, to the lesser crowns, through virtued stones in the brows of each. That's a secret, so I'd ask all of you to keep it close. It was so close a secret that I did not imagine our enemies could know it. Somehow, though, they did. Whoever wears the high crown becomes a voice in the mind of all the wearers of the lesser crowns.

"It's a dangerous power. That is, it's dangerous if ill intentions are in it. It must be used only rarely, for important messages, and then briefly as possible, else it can be used to bend another to your will. Lermo himself only ever did that to one person, and regretted it ever after. It was never done again. At least, never until now.

"As I see it," said Bonfort, "Mograsom has the crown. He is using it to hold and control the minds of the kings. That is why they are not up in arms. Or so I reason."

"I say!" said Lu.

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37: The Ghost King -- Visions In The Dark

2010-11-21T14:19:00.003-05:00

A pigeon skidded to a stop on Queen Goronla's desktop. It bobbed a bow and spoke for some time, in the chortling, cooing language of its kind.

"That is certainly good news!" said the queen. "Bonfort safe for the moment, and with good friends alongside him. It is better than I dared hope; you have greatly eased the burden of my cares."

The bird bowed again and fluttered out. Goronla, queen of all creatures strange, fey or unnatural, had important decisions to make. The king was in the east; the enemy, Mograsom the sorcerer, was to the west. Her own people were dispersed between the two, hiding wherever best they could.

What of Bonfort's own species? Would they rally to him when he appeared? There was a still more urgent question, at this stage. Would they hear he lived, and believe, and fight on his behalf, before they had the proof of seeing him? That could make all the difference in how this war played out.

So many questions. She hated what she was about to do, for it always left her with a headache for days after. She took up a candle and lit it, then took a round leather bag from her desk and took these things to a darkened inner room. From the bag she took a perfectly round and smooth stone, of transparent crystal, and set the candle diagonally from it. Then she sat down and gazed into the heart of the stone.

Ere long it seemed a cloud formed within the stone, then the cloud became an image. She saw a little water-sprite, dancing by a stream, for the sheer joy of dancing, and for the beauty of the water, but something outside Goronla's field of vision frightened the little creature, and it hid.

Her magic allowed her to see only situations involving her own people. She now sought a vision of Grach. She could not seek for Bonfort, in her visions, but perhaps she could catch sight of him by looking at someone nearby. She found him but the big bird was sleeping and no one was around him. She sought then for Markus, the tiny assassin, and found him doing as she had instructed him. He was keeping out of sight, but was near Bonfort.

Bonfort was speaking with Lu the wizard, but Goronla could hear no words; her stone conveyed sight not sound. Bonfort looked somewhat the worse for wear, after his long travels. Well, she wasn't learning much here. She let her vision leave Bonfort and go where it would.

The scene clouded over and a new image formed. She saw a field after a great battle, with many dead piled into a heap--goblins, men and some of her own people, all wearing the black insignia of the Dark. She shuddered. This, she sensed, was a vision of things yet to be, while the previous images had been of the here and now.

Well then: If that was where the stone orb would take her, well and good: what else could she learn of the future?

She saw Bonfort, as he would be, in a time hence--in the midst of a battle, looking haggard and drawn, with his beard now showing some white, and alongside him, as his allies, eldritch creatures fought. There were spoorns by his side, and tantarrabobs, thurses and others--fighting for Bonfort and against their own kind.

"Oh, no," Goronla breathed. "The eldritch folk warring among themselves, is that what it will come to?" But some of her people had already sided with Mograsom and against her. What else, then, could come to pass, than fratricidal war among the faerie creatures, with the humans caught up in it? For Mograsom was certainly Bonfort's enemy too, and his people's, not just hers and her people's.

For many years she had framed her policies so as to keep her people out of the way of humankind and out of their affairs--insofar as possible. Now all that would come apart. Well, if so it must be, then so be it! She put away her crystal ball, and back at her desk, rang a bell she kept there.

Birds came to her call, pigeons to carry messages. She instructed them in what to say and sent them on their various ways.

The insanity of these present days was past pondering. The spirit of rebellion abroad in the land was, it seemed, subverting humans and inhumans alike. If they would not have their rightful kings and queens, they would surely get tyrants. Did they not see it? Were they so blind?

She needed to get out of the house for a while. She shrugged off her jacket, unfurled her wings and flew from the window. Up, up she climbed, until things on the ground looked small. "From up here," she thought, "you would hardly know so much trouble goes on down there." She flew off to the south.

She glided to a landing in a clearing, after about an hour's flying time. "Al!" she called. "Al, old friend, are you around?"

She saw him standing in the sun, near the edge of the clearing, but he was sound asleep.

She walked up beside him and whistled, but not too loudly. The elderly centaur started slightly, opened an eye and looked at her. "Your highness?"

"Sorry to disturb your nap. But I need someone wise to talk to."

"I wasn't napping, I was thinking," said the half-man. "No, come to think of it, I was napping. As it started out, I was indeed thinking, but it must have turned into napping. That happens sometimes. What can I do for you?"

"You can be honest. You may be brutally so, if you like. Whatever you say is all right, for I asked for it. Al, am I a good queen?"

"Why yes, I suppose so. You are even-handed, at least. That is a good thing. Your court is too stiffly formal for my tastes, and some of your decrees are quite strict--but, again, fair, and you don't punish transgressions out of proportion. So, yes. Yes you are."

"Some think I'm not. Goodness knows I've tried, and as for being strict, sometimes it takes a firm hand to keep upwards of two hundred different kinds of supernatural creatures in line."

"I'd agree. The satyrs are particularly a nuisance."

"So, what's it all about, Al? The rebellion."

He closed his eyes, and Goronla began to wonder if he had fallen asleep again. But at last he spoke. "It doesn't make a great deal of sense to me, but the idea seems to be that, when the old order is done away with, everyone will be free. Free of what, I don't know. Free of restrictions of any kind? Free to do anything that might come into your head? Of course that can't last. Hmm, hmm, let me see. And there is a sorcerer involved here, I believe. They're all liars of the worst sort. 'Freedom at any price' sounds very brave and noble, but I rather think some creatures have confused 'to' and 'from.'

"I don't follow you on that last bit."

'Oh. Well, if you think about it, there are two kinds of freedom--freedom from and freedom to. Freedom from most things is good--not to be required, or beholden, or coerced. Freedom to is rather more of a mixed bag. Freedom to do ill? That is what some desires come down to. Some subjects object to you protecting the humans, even from things like faerie mischief, which some of your folk think is just good fun. They do not pause to think how they would feel if the same 'fun' were practiced upon them. So far as not molesting the humans in more serious ways, those are good laws, surely. Some of the werewolves and Robin Goodfellow types may not altogether agree. Even the werewolves who accept that they must not eat humans may doubt among themselves that your ban on sheep stealing is altogether proper."

"Freedom from, versus freedom to. I hadn't thought of it quite that way, but there is wisdom there, I deem."

"Very often, wars and conflicts can be traced to semantic confusion, in which good is called bad, or bad good. One should always be careful what one thinks, and how one does it. Of course, thinking is something it takes a long time, years and years, to get good at, and they never will, who never practice."

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36: The Ghost King --A Mystery and a Mission

2010-11-14T20:17:00.001-05:00

"I still don't understand my enemy," said King Bonfort. "That is a dangerous thing, whether you are talking about all out war, or a sword fight one on one. The number and the variety of accusations against me are quite. . .remarkable. What is the enemy trying to accomplish, with that?"

Several had retired to a smaller room.

Luren said, "All manner of evil things are said against you, but I do not believe a single one them, now that I know you."

Ingdor the elf said, "It is the first rule, in making propaganda, to pick out and vilify a target. Unfortunately you are it, Bonfort: the symbol they use for all that is wrong, bad, evil and stupid."

"And now I am dead too, supposedly." Bonfort smiled. “The propaganda is sure to die down because of it, for it is said, 'speak no ill if the dead.' The people of the Twelve Kingdoms will grow tired of hearing our enemies defaming a corpse."

"There is a bit of dishonest dice going on there," said Ingdor. "On the one hand, they say you are dead. On the other, they have spies looking for you and goblin patrols out to kill you on sight."

"We caught another spy not forty miles from here," said Brunn. "Same story. Tell everyone the king is dead, but kill you if they find you."

"They want the common people to think there is no king and judge in their land, for they wish power for themselves," Luren said. "That is what I was finding out, sometime last year." Then she found she did not want to say anything else.

"Ah, go on, daughter. Tell the whole story," said Brunn. "Luren was to wed Count What's-his-name, but he started going on about a new day and kings be damned and all, and she did something I will ever be proud of. I raised my daughter right. She pulled the lid off his chamber pot and dumped it on his head, and said there would be no wedding."

"I used rather more colorful speech."

"Then she stole a horse and came home."

"I did not steal a horse, father. No decent person steals a horse. It is merely overdue on its hire."

Bonfort chuckled at the story, but turned serious again at once. “The biggest question is why the lesser kings have not turned out with their forces, to fight the invasion. There is something very strange going on there. Indeed, it is the strangest part of a very strange affair. If they would act, all of them together, they could sweep away the invaders in short order, yet they sit on their hands.”

#

Dickson and Bonfort spent the afternoon fencing. They used wooden wasters instead of swords. Bonfort used a long one, for he was still using the long, two-handed sword Lu had given him. He found he liked it. Dickson was armed more conventionally, with a short waster and a buckler. They soon drew a crowd, for Dickson was remarkably skillful and Bonfort quite above average.

Bonfort used the basic wards of the short sword, to wield his long wooden sword. It worked well, except that his forearms crossed when he adopted a hanging guard. That felt a bit awkward. Dickson sensed this and worked to force Bonfort into using that kind of parry.

In those days people fenced using the sidestep, rather than moving straight back and forth, so the two men ended up circling round and round each other as they traded blows. Dickson used the classic method of using his buckler to shield his sword hand, then, when the opportunity presented itself, using his two weapons separately, holding Bonfort's sword aside with the buckler and attacking into the opening that created.

After getting hit several times, Bonfort tried something new. When Dickson tried to bind his sword, he stepped back suddenly, disengaged his long weapon from the trap by dropping the point underneath the buckler, then stepped forward, presenting his point straight ahead.

"Hit!" said Dickson. "Say, that's rather a good trick. With your sword's longer reach I can't hit you, when you do that. Unless..."

They went on to try variations on the theme Bonfort had discovered. After several tries, Dickson found he could counter the move by a well timed sidestep, and by pressing his sword against Bonfort's, then sliding sword against sword as he closed the distance. But the move needed to be very fast; otherwise, Bonfort would simply disengage from his sword, as he had from his shield, and once again present the point at Dickson's chest.

Soon there were a dozen or more pairs of swordsmen practicing this innovation of disengaging and thrusting.

Bonfort and Dickson took a break and watched the others. Quietly, Bonfort said "What do you think? Sort of rough and ready lot of fencers, wouldn't you say?"

"They're not terrible, at least. I don't doubt they're dangerous men, and brave, but untutored. I see mostly basic Castle Gate, here--any boy learns that set of moves when playing singlestick."

"Quite so--it's often been enough to get a man through a battle in one piece, but offers only limited options on offense. I think you should cook up a training program."

"Yes sir. And while we are at it, I wonder what other skills I could firm up for them. They can ride, I suppose. Out here they must do it all the time. Hmm. Yes, I'll give thought to that. Just what can we teach them that will be to their profit?"

"Whatever you do, don't waste time teaching them to march. It isn't that kind of war. All the parade ground stuff about how close order drill breeds unit cohesion and the confidence of one man in another is complete tripe. What the drills are really all about is how to use pike or halberd without chopping you comrades' ears off or stabbing them in the butt. We won't be doing any pitched battles with neat lines and squares. This is going to be a war where we hide in the weeds and jump out when they pass."

"Hmm. Yes," said Dickson. "Blade work, including dagger, and certainly a bit of grappling. Short range and rapid shooting using the longbow. Camouflage--do you see the fellow in the scarlet shirt? Or the one with the yellow hat? I can see I have my work cut out."

© All rights reserved

35: The Ghost King -- The Devil's Coin

2010-11-07T03:25:00.006-05:00

Lu the wizard spoke in the rustic hall.

"Virulent anti-monarchy sentiment is rampant, bringing treachery with it. Anything to upset or overthrow the established order seems good, in the eyes of some. It is no holds barred. Lies have been spread about King Bonfort. The nobility denies the military assistance owed, by custom and pledged treaty, to our noble host here, Brunn. Wait till they find out he is now a Royal Counselor."

Brunn pulled on his whiskers and shrank into his chair. Luren beamed at the words, though.

"Let us here together consider what are the enemy's aims and plans," said Lu. "We were overwhelmed, that is clear. The enemy now controls all important points in the capital, including the Ways. Now we consider what to do about it. All may speak freely in this meeting. After all, we are discussing what we know about the enemy's plans. No secrecy is needed here, for we may presume our enemy knows his plans already. Grach, I think, should speak first."

The large bird, glinting purple and black, perched on the podium. "Good morning. I am happy to be again in the land of Lord Brunn, whose habit is to cast stale leftover bread, the best kind, into the fields and byways, which recommends him as a man of excellent judgement. He and humankind are not alone on this earth; he knows it. I do not know you, sir, but I and many friends have appreciated your kindness." He bobbed his neck in semblance of a human bow.

"Now down to business," Grach said. "I caught fortunate currents in the air, which lifted me upward; birds call it 'riding the thermals.' I climbed very high had an eye view of four counties and a dutchy. I didn't like what I saw. Are you featherless idiots trying to commit suicide?

"There were exactly four knights errant with their parties of squires and men at arms, wearing the blue of Lormeen. Two Murranese. One from Candon. What the hell is going on? White robed goblins number in the thousands. Thousands! Turn out or die. All the kings should have all their forces out: All the kings' horses and all the kings' men! C'awarak!" And he flew into the rafters.

Lu took the podium again. "King Bonfort?"

Bonfort stepped to the rostrum. "From the time I have taken the throne, I have promulgated over again the same just laws that have served us from time out of mind. I offered the Turm rebels, close to the north of us here, time to parley ere we fought. They are fighting anyway. I have been accused of things a donkey would be ashamed of, and even one thing he wouldn't. I do not think these accusations have entirely to do with my rule as king. My legislation has been rather plain and boring, which is perhaps the best name history can give to a reign."

Brunn stood up and loudly said, "I'll tell you what they say. The business with the donkey no one believes; you'd be kicked and trampled if you tried. What they say is the whole idea of kings and nobles is finished."

Bonfort said, "Please take the podium, sir."

"Everyone can hear me from right where I stand. There is this idea around that we don't need kings, we'd be better off without them, and we would be better off with something instead."

"What is this 'instead'?" said Bonfort. "I mean, it all works out the same in the end, a ruler, of whatever name, must see to land divisions and hear cases of rape and murder and wrongful death, grand theft and sorcery and treason, whether you call yourself a king or not."

"My high king, they seek a sorcery whereby no one does the wrong thing."

"How?"

"No one is allowed to do anything against the rules, and there are mountains of rules," said Brunn. "That is how they wish to keep order. Everything is against the rules. Even saying the wrong thing, and presumably thinking it as well, is against the law."

"My ancestor, Lermo the Great, said 'There should be few laws, for the simple reason that so few men are really fit to be policemen.' That is the cornerstone of our empire, right there," Bonfort said. "Let people do as seems best, and sort out any wrongs and harms later, after the fact. You can fit all of our laws into a thin codex. Indeed, I know them off by heart."

"That's not how it will work if these dirty puckersores get their way. Laws for every occasion! There is even a law against throwing food in the byways."

"I don't much like the sound of that!" came a voice from the rafters.

"Or laws against saying you don't like someone's opinion, or that his horse is ugly, or burning leaves in autumn, or carrying a sword if you think you need one; I could go on, but here is a good one: You may not smack, spank or otherwise 'molest,' as they say, an insubordinate child."

"I'll bet an insubordinate child thought that one up!" said Bonfort. "My own Princess Ahnna was a handful, with strong will from her mother and magical abilities from the royal heritage. Why, when she was a baby, I paddled her for crawling on the ceiling, for she could fall. All this is lunacy."

"The lunacy is just over the border, my liege, and coming this way. You may not by law eat things fried in butter, or smoke leaf, when they get here."

Dickson was next to take the rostrum. "The tactical situation is pretty clear. We lost. Oh, how we lost! Treachery and dereliction of duty stand gravest, as causes, but I must take full responsibility. We have all heard talk about what if there were no kings or sheriffs, but all I thought was, it was idle talk: It would never work. It would come to nothing."

Lu rose and said, "If blame is to be assigned, I suppose we will never end this meeting. I bear my share of blame as well: we were all blindsided. But if I may point out the main thing, what our opponents really want is sheriffs everywhere, kings nowhere, and we know who is eventually in charge: Mograsom the sorcerer. 'King' is an interesting word. It meant, of old, 'protector,' and it meant nothing else. Then the word changed, until it spoke, to many, of royal prerogatives that grew year to year. I am afraid a good deal of that went on. But what a king mainly does is set a note of sanity and balance."

But Dickson, still at the rostrum, continued: "I should have seen it. Idiot gossip that can never work, idealism gone out of its right course and transformed--by magic--into a revolution. What I don't know is why the knights of the Twelve Kingdoms aren't turning out."

Ingdor the elf then stood. "My lords and ladies," he said, earning a smile from Luren, the only lady, "There is magic involved, plainly, to twist hearts and inflame anger. I offer you a somewhat different perspective. The elves do not believes in fate, destiny or curses. Instead, we speak of the edli. What is an edli? It is what you bring on yourself by your beliefs. As drinking too much wine makes one drunk, taking in bad ideas makes you bad.

"Another way of looking at it: An idea is in concert with the music of the universe or it is a fiddle out of tune. I assure you, it is out of tune to say, you can have police everywhere for small causes. It is small minded. This idea is related to a larger one. You must be already far gone in evil before you can call an evil thing good. That is the "Great Edli," to see evil and to refuse to call it by its name. If you do that, you are useless for all moral judgment and can say nothing sensible."

Bonfort spoke again. "That is rather Elvish and abstract. But I think there is truth in it for those who will think it through. But I cannot believe that my fellow kings, many of them my cousins, or related to my grandparents, have been taken in. They have not acted. That is the part that bothers me. Something is wrong. Some of them are Elvish taught, and know edli. Anyone can see goblins in the streets is not a good thing, but it did not happen without help from among ourselves."

"Consider the devil's coin," said Lu. "What is it that can be offered to any man, to make him betray our trust, discard his priorly sworn principles, and play the traitor? For the thief, it is thievery made easy. For the adulterer, the idea that no one will be keeping score. For any traitor, it is the idea that the old prohibitions, particularly upon the things he would most like to do, are hampering progress, and ought to be abolished. For cheap small men, the devil's coin may be something cheap and small."

"But that doesn't make sense!" said Luren. She surprised herself by speaking up, but the thing needed saying. "They want more laws, just not against what they would like to do? That's insane."

"Insanity may do for an explanation for the treason of lesser men," said Bonfort, "But I hope my relatives have a better excuse." He reached above his shoulder and touched the hilt of the great sword he wore. "King means protector. When the protectors go bad, what then?"

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34: The Ghost King -- Plans Within Plans, and Kitchen Gossip

2010-10-31T20:49:00.004-04:00

It took a while to get things sorted out, turned around and headed in the right direction. Dickson returned to his men and sent them on a long circuitous trek through the mountains, on a route that would keep them well away from the town and farms.

Grach had returned to the Farwalkers' camp. Through him, Dickson sent a message. "Send several pigeons, will you?" Dickson said. "This message must get through."

Grach's feathers were a bit ruffled by this. "I've been out of the nest before. Your message will be carried, and will arrive."

So a grand strategy emerged. The Farwalkers, without knowing the king's exact location, would proceed to an area where the king could make contact--their orders were to be seen in Brunn's territory, then sit still. Let them see you, look you over, let them speak first.

Trusted messenger pigeons would tell Queen Goronla of Bonfort's plight. Again, Bonfort's location was left general--show up, we'll see and contact you.

The last step was the difficult one. Goronla, the Queen of Faerie, would be responsible for spreading the word, to humans as well as to others, that Bonfort lived and was mounting a resistance campaign to the east. But some humans could not be trusted and most believed Bonfort to be dead.

The Farwalkers now raising resistance forces at Arvan's Crossing would be told the king's whereabouts--again, in vague terms.

Grach sighed. "It's all so complicated. I should never have become involved in wars and adventures and magic. When I was still in the egg, I had a babysitter who sang of palaces and adventures and defying wrong at any cost. I blame her. I might never have believed all the tales, if not for her. Unmagical rooks are happy eating bugs and grain and stealing shiny objects. I should have pretended to be unmagical."

"But you are in the fight now, my feathered friend," said Dickson. "You think you have problems? You can fly away into the trees, at least; I can't. My problem is I raised my hand as a lad with a new beard and a new sword to say, upon honor, I would always uphold the Old Law against enemies both foreign and domestic. Now I have both kinds."

"Better a stink bug than no dinner," said Grach.

"What?"

"It's something my people say."

#

"Part the leaves slowly," whispered Luren. "You make too much noise!"

"You make more noise telling me so, than I made parting the leaves!" Bonfort whispered too. Their quarry was twenty paces away.

Luren had her bow and a quiver of arrows. Bonfort had a spear.

"Did you just tell me to shut up?" Her eyes flashed with annoyance.

"Shhh!" said Bonfort. The wind was shifting.

"WHAT!?"

The auroch charged.

Bonfort walked out to meet it.

"No! That's not the way! Don't!" shouted Luren.

Bonfort stood his ground. He touched his spear point to the neck of the beast, and at the same time he stepped on his spear, so the ground took the impact of the charge.

The spear bent and snapped. But the point emerged behind the beast's shoulders.

Bonfort stepped away from the death throes of the animal. He turned to look at Luren, and said,

"A word on how I like to hunt, Luren: No talking at any time when the game is near, is my rule. Talking made it charge. In any case, it's too late for advice when you're that close." His words were measured but his tone betrayed his annoyance. "Besides," he said, "This isn't my first buff."

Luren turned and walked away.

To himself, Bonfort thought, "She is a bad a second-guesser as Queen Jessica. A man may as well not have any thoughts, if a woman is going to tell him what he should think instead." But then he thought, "After all, she was only trying to keep me safe."

Men from the camp came out to help him gut and skin and butcher, for it was too big a job for one man. They touched their palms to the blood, then shook hands with Bonfort. The camp would eat well.

#

Dickson looked at the bison's head with appreciation. King Bonfort's camp was fragrant with the scent of meat grilling and wild onions frying. "Annoyed with you, was he, my king? Maybe he's from Turm."

Bonfort laughed out loud. "Good to have you back! Tell me more about this resistance at Arvan's Crossing."

"It was just getting set up when I left. The idea is to bring together everyone who has the right idea--to fight goblins. Most haven't heard you're still alive and many who have, don't believe it. I expect a lot of the city's soldiery is there by now, and with the harvests mostly in, a good number of country folk as well."

"Will they come to us?"

"For now I've left that a matter up to local command. I can send another message if you like. The Farwalkers running the show, behind the scenes of course, will be told you're out here. But it may be the resistance fighters can do us more good where they are. My thought is my Farwalkers will never fall back unless things get too hot for them in the western realm."

"Well, you've done a grand job. We'll see how it goes, whether to call them way out here, or leave them in place, and go join them. Here, this has been stewing long enough, will you share it with me?" Bonfort took a long knife and speared something out of the pot. "Hunter's privilege, you know--the heart."

#

Polly the cook, Chief of Chefs at Bonfort's castle of Murran Court, submitted her usual budget request and the new keepers of the castle granted it. Despite all the changes and upheaval, there were still meals to be prepared and served and cleaned up after. She did not approve at all of the new management. She kept that quiet.

At least there were no goblins in the place. That was a boon. But the humans were loyal, to the point of subservience and groveling, to the sorcerer and his top men. Ugh! Bonfort, of happy memory, did not demand obsequiousness and indeed did not put up with it. She herself, after no more than a simple curtsy, could go on to discuss with the High King tuns of butter or sides of beef and the need for better carrots, and he listened attentively, even respectfully, to her views. After all, he was a king, not a cook. She headed a large enterprise, of importance to everyone's happiness and wellbeing, and he respected that.

She sighed for better days now bygone. But she still made her kitchen rounds as usual. One of the station men was sauteeing mushrooms while simultaneously holding an animated discussion with a roving under-chef. "Say, Anton, what are you two gossiping about, there?"

The young man frying the mushrooms looked up and said, "It's all through the palace, boss. People are saying King Bonfort didn't die at all, it was somebody in his place, pretending to be him, and he's safe and sound in Lormeen!"

"Hmmf. Well, if there is one thing I've learned as a cook, in going on these thirty years in the job, a palace kitchen is the place to be if you want to hear wild gossip."

"Yes ma'am."

She fished out a spoonful of the frying mushrooms, blew on them to cool them, then tasted them. "Very good!" she said. "This is our business, Anton. Buying and frying, when you come right down to it. Wild political rumors are...well...wild rumors." She motioned at the under-chef. "You're pairing these mushrooms with this evening's capons? Yes? Good, they will match up well. Carry on!"

She was proud of her staff. Something Bonfort said once had stayed with her. "The measure of a general or a field marshal is how well his army does after he gets killed." He was talking about something else, and to someone else; she had overheard it while checking up on the table service at a banquet, but it had struck home. It was true in the kitchen as well. Hire the best people and force responsibility on them--but never without giving them the authority to do things the best way they know. That is how you turn out three meals a day, every day, extra ones during Yule, and all of them good.

She thought about what she had just heard. Bonfort was alive, rumor said. And in a sudden flash of insight, she knew that it was true. She suddenly knew it to be as factual as anything--as true as beating cream will make it fluff, or overcooking beef flank toughens it.

In the days before the king supposedly died, she had never seen the king face to face, and he had rejected eggs cooked just the way he liked. He had eaten mountains of scones, also unlike the true king.

"It is true," she whispered. "Bonfort lives!"

Well, her rounds were not over. It was time to check up on the scullery department, then the wares and pantries, then tally the books. She went on with her business, but with a new spring in her step.

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33: The Ghost King -- Outer Candon

2010-10-24T18:26:00.007-04:00

"It makes no sense," Dickson said. "The elves are on our side. Or rather, they are on the side of good. How came an elf to be leading goblins?"

"I have never heard of anything like it," said Grach.

Dickson looked down at the slain elf. "There's no doubt that's what he is, I suppose? The ears, the slender build, the speedy movements?" He began going through the dead elf's pockets--distasteful, but what one did, in combat. There was a parchment in a script he could not read, some Murran coins of gold and silver, a small but vicious dagger and, around the neck, a pendant of curious make. "What do you make of that?" he said, holding up the pendant.

Grach started back, fluttering. "Araw! Kaw! Symbol of evil! It's the sign of the devils of the dark of Saddoreth. No elf would wear such insignia."

"Safe to carry with me, I suppose? I want to show it to a friend. Ingdor may know what to make of it, and the parchment."

"Ah. Ambassador Ingdor was with the king, and Lu. It's a lot to hope for, though, that you will find them still together."

"It seems unlikely they would split up," said Dickson. "Or so I reason. They would stay together for mutual protection. Still, who knows? These are evil days.

"Did you notice this, Grach? The Lesser Kings have not sent their forces out to fight. I haven't seen a single Territorial knight since we started this journey. If it's war, you would expect them in arms. It it's peace, you would see them preening everywhere, wanting people to notice them, and some of them on actual errands for their kings."

"Hmm," said Grach. "It's difficult to conclude very much from something's absence, but yes, I haven't seen any Merry Terries, either. I wonder where they've gotten to. I think I'll have a look around." He lifted off and circled upward. "See you in a few days!" he called.

Dickson decided to resume his journey using the white road, but not without misgivings. They had been attacked, and he did not understand just how: the sudden appearance on a clear road of the goblins and their strange leader.

But it seemed unlikely to happen again, the like thing having never, so far as he knew, happened before--and anyway, his men had won. Speed or stealth? It was the constant tradeoff, in war; he chose speed.

The road led up into the mountains and then over them, in a gleaming chain of switchbacks that vanished into the distance. It was a long walk--best to get started.

#

It took days to reach the ridges and look down the other side of the mountains. The land to the east of the mountains was Outer Candon. Mist hung amid the peaks and the leaves shone in muted colors. Dickson caught a whiff of woodsmoke mixed in with the damp forest smell; no doubt the stoves and fireplaces of the locals.

There were no really good maps of the region. Dickson's showed the mountains and the great river, but little detail about the land between. It showed a town of fair size along this road. Going there and seeing if he could gather any clues was as good a plan as any.

He reached the town in late afternoon. He had left his men behind, hidden in the forest. People nodded at him as he passed, or said hello, but no one asked him anything. The place lived up to its reputation for tight lips and no questions asked. 'Mind your own business' was said to be chief rule, here. "Where is the inn?" he asked a cutler, who was gathering in the knives and scissors from the shelf before his shop window.

After thinking a moment, during which Dickson supposed the man was deciding an answer would betray no secrets, the cutler said "On your left, up a ways further," then returned to putting away his wares.

The inn was small and not fancy, but it was clean and the beer was good. "I'm in from the West," he told the innkeeper. "What's the news?"

"It's none too good, what there is," said the innkeeper, wiping the table, and then he walked away.

This was going to present some challenges, Dickson thought. How do you question people whose habit is to be closemouthed? Of course this business of keeping their mouths shut would be a good thing for the king, if he was indeed hiding in these parts.

The innkeeper came back. "Your hot bath will be ready shortly. No horse, then? Well, likely your shoes are worn. There's a traveling cobbler in town, not from around here. Does good work, though. Shall I send him to you?

Dickson was about to decline, but for no reason he could afterward explain, he said, "Yes, if you would."

After a steaming bath and a big dinner of stew and bread, Dickson went to his room. A staff rapped on his door. "Cobbler! Left or right, the best in sight!"

The cobbler had finger pressed to lips as Dickson opened the door. The round blue eyes, under shaggy brows, had merriment dancing in them. "You've walked far, I hear. But then, that's what Farwalkers do, isn't it...Dickson?"

Lu the wizard, in his shoemaker's guise, had been traveling among the few towns, looking for information and hoping to find friends of the king's cause.

"Something's gone terribly wrong," Lu said. "The King of Candon isn't enforcing his border with Eastern Turm. The news from the West is alarming. Is it true? Goblins in the Ways?"

"It's true; I saw it. There doesn't seem to be much of a reaction from any of the local kings. Their knights may as well be in hiding. I trust the king's all right?"

"Just fine, if you can call being deposed and hunted fine," said Lu. "It's very good to see you, Dickson; one of the more hopeful things that has happened lately."

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32: The Ghost King -- Why?

2010-10-17T20:04:00.002-04:00

Dickson was uneasy around his men and was trying hard not to show it. It seemed they felt some embarrassment for him. But then, he reflected, a part of that was certainly the 'face mirror effect,' which every spy knows. Often, what you see in others' eyes merely reflects what they see in your own.

"Oh, bloody hell" he thought. "If I start eye-scrying my own men I'll drive myself crazy. It happened. Own up. Move on."

Witches, though. How many? He couldn't remember. A little of it was coming back to him now, maniacal music of drums and shrill fifes, and many arms and legs around him.

And in upon this merry scene had burst his merry men, with improvised catchpoles.

He was sure he would be hearing about this again. But for now, no one mentioned it.

A white smooth road stretched out the way they were going, one of the Old Roads; he had never trusted them. One heard stories, not so much in towns, where the roads passed through, but out in the country, where the roads stretched endlessly. Strange events were tied to the Old Roads, or so the country people said.

Well, it was go this way or face the excruciating slowness of forest travel, tree to tree, and using the meandering trails made by animals.

He raised his arm in the air and circled his finger. "Form up, single file, long spaced, broken step! Slow stroll, MARCH!"

He led. Behind him all was very nearly as quiet as if he were alone, no clatter of gear, or sound of stomping boots. His men were the best. He wished he was. In Murran, he hadn't killed Count Candrew when he had the chance. He had failed to uncover the plotters and the invasion, in time to do anything about it. The Crown of Lermo had been stolen--not his responsibility, but he still had no idea why it had been taken, and the theft had happened less than a league from his house. Now he had, literally, been caught with his pants down, and everyone had seen it. He felt rather less than heroic.

The day, however, was magnificent, autumn at its best, high vault of blue sky, the trees painted with gold and crimson, childhood memories of apples with sharp cheese and hot cider with spice. In the distance were the mountains, wreathed in mist.

"They can't take this, my country, away from me. They won't. I won't let them!" He had not realized he had spoken aloud, until he had said it.

Softly at first, but stronger as more joined in, a song began in the long file behind him.

That was hardly stealth mode, but he only shrugged. He began to sing along.

Late that afternoon, as the sun's rays slanted and cast long shadows before them, Dickson and his party saw... well, they were not sure what they saw.

It began with a shimmering on the road before them, as one may see on a hot day, but it was a cold day. The shimmering grew until it was a tall curtain--they had seen nothing like that before. Out of the curtain of troubled air stepped an elf, and behind him trooped white-cloaked figures wearing masks.

Dickson tried to remember where he had seen such cloaks before. "Good day, Sir Elf! Your arrival is, may I say, unexpected."

"A good day?" said the elf. "It may be, but not for you." And he drew his sword.

"Goblins!" shouted Dickson, for he now recalled where he had seen the cloaks before, and the creatures' movements as they drew weapons left no doubt what they were. "Thirds!" he shouted.

The dozen men nearest him moved forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, while the rest ran around to the side, to flank the goblins. But the enemy at the same time charged.

Dickson ended up fighting the elf sword to sword, and the elf was very good. Dickson was forced repeatedly into the Castle Gate defense, the most defensive of all wards, hilt high, point low and sloped toward his knee. He was stronger but the elf was faster. He had no time to look to see what was happening around him, or shout orders.

Slowly he was forced back and then, with an unexpected trick of the elf's blade, he was disarmed! The elf raised his sword to strike him down, and Dickson thought, with odd detachment, that he would very much have liked to know the answer to the riddle of the stolen crown. But now he never would.

But then something whizzed past his ear and buried itself in the elf's forehead. The elf vaulted and leaped crazily, as a chicken may do when its head is cut of, then collapsed to the ground, stone dead.

No time to think about it! Dickson looked around for his men. They had done well. They had routed the goblins, who were fleeing into the forest. He blew the signal on his whistle to call back his men.

He looked down at the slain elf. The little golden creature, Markus, blood glistening on it, crawled out of the ruined skull. It had something in its hand, grey and red, and Dickson realized with a sick feeling that the creature was munching on a handful of brain tissue. "What are you?" Dickson asked.

"No use asking," said Grach, who fluttered to the ground nearby. "Markus doesn't talk. He saved your life."

Dickson turned and bowed to the little creature. It bobbed a bow back, but Dickson found he couldn't bear to look at the little bloody creature.

One Farwalker had died. "Why didn't he save Chesterton, and let me die?" said Dickson. "His father sent him to the Farwalkers to learn war and discipline, and now he is dead, fighting at my side."

"Why does anything happen in a battle?" said Grach.

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