Manipulator's War

Chapter 4: Trouble in Tarlah-2

Lenaris smiled mischievously. “They aren’t the only ones. The festival also attracts captains and officials from South Harbour. And when his skill with a blade is near as accomplished as mine, and his intelligence, if not quite education, is a match, well...”

Ruarnon should have known. She was twenty.

“You had best go to bed, Ruarnon,” Lenaris added. “You will be expected at your history lesson tomorrow. Older people say part of living is responsibility, not that lack of it has ever been a fault of yours.”

Horses’ hooves striking pavement hit Ruarnon’s ears. A carriage travelled down a lane away from the castle, back-lit by lamps burning around the rooftop. Ruarnon stilled, noting that every window in the mud-brick apartments lining the street was dark, and the night had otherwise fallen silent.

“Lenaris, what hour is it?” they asked.

“Near midnight. Why?”

“There is a carriage moving away from the castle.”

A woman’s face appeared in the carriage window. There was just enough light to make out her tousled long dark hair. A hand raised before her mouth, fingers moving strangely.

“Is she miming a flute?” Ruarnon asked, feeling hollow.

“It cannot be,” Lenaris whispered, leaning over the battlements.

The woman’s head jerked from sight, a curtain was pulled across the open window, and the carriage moved on, fading in the semi-darkness of the two moons.

Ruarnon’s heart raced. They shook their head. Enemies couldn’t have their mother. It was impossible. But if a woman was being taken from the palace against her will, no one seemed to be doing anything about it. And there was only one way to be sure it wasn’t Corina.

Ruarnon ran, hurtling downstairs. They skipped two steps at once and landed painfully on their right foot, Lenaris’ footsteps echoing after them. They raced down a short stone corridor, their footsteps echoing through eerrie quiet until they stopped suddenly. The night guards outside their parents’ chambers lay slumped on the floor, snoring. Further down, their guards were positioned as though they had fallen and slept where they lay. Ruarnon gaped and their heart began to pound against their chest.

Lenaris pointed silently. A broken pottery cup lay beside one of Ruarnon’s parents guards. The guard next to her held a cup in his hand. Ruarnon shivered. The Night Guard was usually given kaf to aid their alertness. Someone had drugged it.

Lenaris snatched a torch from its wall bracket. Ruarnon was unarmed and intruders could lurk in rooms off the corridor. Their body tensed. “We need more guards.”

She blinked. “You want me to fetch them and leave you here alone?”

“I should raise the alarm.”

“But you intend to check on your father,” she guessed, reading the longing in Ruarnon’s gaze.

Duty to secure the area warred with Ruarnon’s urgency to find out if their father was safe. They seized a torch off the opposite wall and their legs resumed running almost of their own accord, Lenaris hard on their heels. They pushed open Ruarnon’s parents’ door and ran around sleeping servants seated at a table in the antechamber. Beyond, Ruarnon’s parents’ bed was empty; its covers tossed on the floor. Dread shot through them.

“Raise the alarm.”

Lenaris raised her eyebrows at their tone. She met their worried gaze, bowed her head, and departed.

Footsteps echoed in her wake. Ruarnon raised their burning torch before them as the footsteps grew louder. Six guards approached, presumably sent by Lenaris. Ruarnon sighed with relief and returned the torch to its wall bracket. The guards needed orders. A void of uncertainty opened before Ruarnon. Thoughts tumbled over themselves. Then years of listening to their father give orders returned, as did Uncle Omah’s words, “Dangerous times call for decisive action.”

Ruarnon straightened. They smoothed their face into the calm mask they had worn in the Zaldeaan palace and ordered, “Two of you, wake Companion Pamoran. Tell him the king and queen have been abducted.”

The guard’s eyes widened and several mouths dropped open. The man in the middle recovered first and asked, “Is Companion Pamoran to lead the pursuit?”

Companion Pamoran was a former chariot captain. He could lead the pursuit but it would set out more swiftly if Ruarnon simply ordered everyone to get moving. Time was of the essence. They calculated ratios, then replied, “Yes. Two of you, wake a dozen archers. One of you, wake six charioteers. One of you, go to the stables and tell the grooms to ready six chariots. I want the sixth man to keep an eye on the corridors and the rest of you to return to your posts as soon as your messages are delivered.”

Five guards bowed, then dashed away. The sixth man also bowed. “The gates, Benevolence,” he reminded them.

Ruarnon blinked at the hole in their defence orders. “Tell the castle wall guards to signal that we have intruders.”

The last guard bowed and jogged away. Ruarnon stood in a silent corridor, their heart racing. Their parents were getting further away, and the further they got, the less Tarlah could do to protect them. It would take multiple chariots to overpower the soldiers in the carriage. But a lone rider with a bow could wound a horse pulling a carriage. And Ruarnon was an excellent shot. They could help recover their parents before the chariot escaped the city.

They ran to their chambers. Night Guards still slept on the corridor floor. They tried shoving the guards awake, but the men and women didn’t stir. At the small round table in Ruarnon’s anteroom, their servants slept hard. They paused. Inserting the pins which bound their cuirass would be time consuming, but they felt n***d without armour. Instead, they flung on a boiled leather vest, belting their iron sword over it. Then they strapped on a bronze helmet, secured a quiver of arrows to the side of their belt, seized their spear and bow, and sprinted down the corridor.

Every dark section between torches felt unfriendly, but having a spear in hand was reassuring, and it was a relief to pass undrugged guards on duty. Ruarnon paused when they reached the head of the steps to the castle courtyard. Above it, blue flames rose from the castle gate towers, warning of intruders.

“Benevolence! Companion Pamoran asked me to watch over you.”

Ruarnon turned. Captain Arleath was running towards them. Their heart skipped a beat. They should have sent for the man, not rushed to join the chariots without a bodyguard.

“I mean to ride out,” said Ruarnon.

Arleath bowed his helmeted head. He wore bronze armour and carried a spear in his right hand. He kept up as Ruarnon rushed down the castle steps and across the paved stone courtyard towards Companion Pamoran yelling orders to grooms and charioteers in the stables. Ruarnon nodded to a groom. They and Arleath were mounted on saddle blankets within moments, the horses’ hooves clacking as they crossed the courtyard. Chains clanked as the outer gates opened. Ruarnon heeled their horse through and Captain Arleath followed.

The horses tilted down the steep hill Tarlah Castle lay atop, then trotted between dark, multi-storey mud-brick apartments. Ruarnon gripped their horse’s flanks with their knees as they bounced on their saddle blanket. The clack of hooves echoed loudly off walls and down empty streets. Ruarnon worried the carriage’s occupants would hear them, but there was nothing to be done about it.

The silver glow of the twin moons dimly lit North Road, the swiftest and most likely path for the carriage to take to North Gate. Ruarnon’s best chance of stopping it was shooting the horses before the carriage lost them among the hills of River Road. Buildings flashed past, and Ruarnon’s heart hammered against their chest. Wielding weapons to attack enemies felt like playing at being their war-hero father, but recovering their parents inside Tarlah City was the surest way to get them back.

“Take care,” a man shouted from behind. The first chariot sped into the city, driven by Companion Pamoran, who was warning Ruarnon and leaving off their title to conceal their identity. Their parents’ abductors may be ignorant of the Festival of Life. The abductors may have expected to find Ruarnon in their chambers, too. Maybe Ruarnon shouldn’t have risked themself, but it was too late for that now.

The carriage careened around the corner of Centre and North Roads, charging down North Road ahead. If they could gain twenty feet on it, it would come within arrow range. Ruarnon leaned forwards on their mount, nudging it with their heels, urging it to move faster. North Gate loomed. Ruarnon tugged their reigns left, seeking an angle to target the horses. But the carriage shielded the horses. They would have to aim over it. Over the roof and driver, whose bare neck was exposed. They could kill the driver, but Ruarnon had never so much as wounded a man. But they couldn’t let enemies escape with their parents.

Ruarnon seized their bow from its saddle holder with trembling hands. They fumbled it, then exhaled slowly. Gripping their horse’s sides with their knees, they stood in the stirrups, drew three arrows from their quiver, and took aim at the back of the drivers’ neck. Ruarnon hesitated, wanting to look away from the man whose life they were about to claim. But looking away meant they could miss, abandoning their parents to who knew what fate.

Ruarnon counted five beats of their heart, then drew and released all three arrows in swift succession. The arrows arced across the road. Over the carriage. A guttural cry from the driver cut short as he slumped below sight, two arrows sticking up from his neck. Ruarnon shivered.

Men shouted, and the carriage maintained its pace. Ruarnon couldn’t see who was driving it now. The new driver must be crouched low in the seat. Should Ruarnon attack the horses instead?

North Gate swung open. The carriage raced through. The gates began to close.

“Aim for the middle,” Captain Arleath instructed.

Ruarnon turned their horse till their leg brushed Arleath’s. Something solid knocked the air from Ruarnon’s lungs. They fell, cool night air rushing up to greet them. Their arm struck something solid. Then they were tumbling, stopping abruptly, and everything went dark.

When they came to, Ruarnon’s head and limbs ached. Their arm was wrapped in a sticky bandage and they were lying on stone. They sat gingerly, trying not to put weight on aching limbs. Captain Arleath helped them.

“What happened?” Ruarnon asked, dabbing at something wet on the side of their head. Blood?

“Two men tried to steal our horses,” Arleath replied, surveying the road ahead. “One knocked you off your horse. I managed to fight mine off, but he fled into the night.”

Vague images of a race down North Road flashed through Ruarnon’s mind. They rubbed their head with one hand, trying to ease its ache, and asked, “Does Companion Pamoran pursue the carriage?”

“Yes, but two chariots remained to guard you.”

Ruarnon’s head swam. Companion Pamoran’s curses cut through the night. Ruarnon turned, but the timber sides of the chariot Captain Arleath had leant them against walled off their view.

Arleath remained silent. There was shouting, then the thump of hooves as a chariot approached. Ruarnon sat up as Companion Pamoran drove towards them, alone. The man’s silver hairs atop his mostly dark head shone in the moonlight, but the arms holding the reins and legs keeping balance on a swaying chariot were hardened muscle.

“They lost us in the hills, reached the eastern shore, and boarded a ship which is sailing north,” Pamoran reported with a grimace. “Take Their Benevolence back to the castle. I’ve sent word that the pursuit must continue by ship.”

Captain Arleath stepped onto the chariot and took up the reins. He checked Ruarnon held the handrail securely, then turned the chariot around and urged the horses after Companion Pamoran.

“You did well, Benevolence,” Pamoran called over his shoulder. “Neither of us were fast enough.”

Ruarnon heard the anger in his tone. Pamoran was the fastest driver in Tarlah. He also hated to lose. But not as much as Ruarnon dreaded it. It would take time for word to reach the castle and more for a ship to be readied. The abductors would have a long head start when Tarlahn ships were put to sea. Only three destinations lay north of where the chariot had boarded a ship, the no-man’s-land of Death Belt Desert, the Zaldeaan Realm, and the reclusive North Lands. After the attempt on their life, Ruarnon worried their parents were in Zaldeaan hands and feared they were beyond Tarlah’s reach.