The Warlock of Hymal, Book I: A Boy from the Mountains Page 8

  “Clean,” said the sentry in a dry tone, then he and the other sentry each pulled open one wing of the large door.

  Through the open door, Nikko could make out a large room. A long, red carpet led from the entry to a desk constructed of dark wood, and behind the desk there sat an old man.

  “Get in there!” ordered one of the sentries in a firm whisper.

  Nikko stepped inside tentatively and the two sentries followed him in, locked the large door from the inside, and took up defensive posts on either side of it.

  “Go over to him,” whispered the sentry again when Nikko just stood there, too awed to move.

  Finally, Nikko followed the red carpet toward the carved wooden table where the old man sat. He seemed not to take any notice of Nikko, and did not raise his eyes from the various papers laid out before him.

  “He shall be seated,” said the important man, still without looking up.

  As Nikko took a seat on one of the two upholstered chairs in front of the table, the man leveled his eyes at him. The seneschal radiated an air of exceptional dignity. Short, silver-white hair, a neatly trimmed full white beard with dark streaks, and a magnificent robe, the like of which Nikko had never seen. Glistening black cloth embroidered in gold and silver. The nobleman had an overwhelming, almost paralyzing, effect on the simple village lad.

  “I am seneschal to His Serene Highness, the Landgrave of Hocatin,” said the dignitary in an exalted voice. “I shall now put to him a number of questions. By the laws of the realm and the landgraviate, these questions are to be answered truthfully and thoroughly. Any violation shall be punishable as treason.”

  Nikko swallowed, then gave an abashed nod as the seneschal's intense gaze bored into him. In his nervousness, his brow began to sweat. The man had addressed Nikko in the third person again, which unnerved him even more.

  “Good,” the seneschal continued, slowly dipping his quill in a little bottle of ink. “Name?”

  “Nikko,” said the lad in a small voice.

  “No family name, I assume?” the officer said drily, making a note.

  “No. But I'm from the southeast farm.” Nikko did his best to give as much information as possible.

  “Home town?”

  “Vyldoro.”

  “Date of birth? Or unknown …”

  “Unknown, lord.”

  “Does he at least know his age?” the old man said with a shake of his head.

  “This year will be my sixteenth summer.”

  “That is no more than half an answer,” the seneschal chided. “Good. In which season was he born? Does he at least know that?”

  “In the autumn, sir,” Nikko replied, feeling a little embarrassed.

  “So, fifteen. All right. Enough of that. Now let's get to what matters. From where does he have the letter?”

  “From the Vyldam Pass.”

  “The Vyldam Pass?”

  “Yes. At least, that's what some people call it,” said Nikko. “For us, it's just the pass.”

  “So the letter simply lay up in the pass?” the seneschal asked.

  “It was in a broken-down building up there,” Nikko explained. “With a frozen corpse.”

  “Ah. Then why not say so straight away …” the seneschal said soberly. “Did he search the corpse?”

  “No. I was scared and I stumbled over the bag when I tried to run away,” Nikko replied. All the questions were starting to fray his nerves.

  “And what was his business in the customs post?”

  “I was sheltering from a snowstorm.”

  “Then why did he take the satchel if he was so frightened?”

  “I don't know. I didn't know I'd taken it.” Nikko was beginning to feel like he was in big trouble. He should have just the left the damnable satchel where it was or thrown it away!

  “Truthful and thorough,” the seneschal reminded him in a serious voice.

  “I really don't know,” Nikko said, the first tears brimming in his eyes.

  “He should calm himself down,” said the seneschal then, his voice gentler. “I believe him.” The man paused in his questioning then for several moments, and wrote more notes. Nikko used the time to try to get his emotions under control. He told himself that he hadn't done anything wrong, so he had nothing to worry about!

  “Good,” the seneschal finally continued. “What was he doing up at the Vyldam pass in the first place?”

  “I was on my way back from Hymal.” He had decided to tell the unvarnished truth. The old fox would see through a lie in any case. The boy only hoped that he would be able to leave Thorodos out of the picture without the seneschal noticing. Fodaj had warned him not to say a word about the old man, after all.

  “He was in Hymal, he says?” the old man asked with his eyebrows raised. “What did he see over there?”

  “I didn't get very far. Terrible creatures attacked me on the plain and drove me into the woods, where invisible archers killed all of them. Whoever was in the forest shot at me, too. Then I came back over the pass as fast as I could.”

  “Slowly, slowly,” the seneschal said, but he sounded very interested. “One thing at a time. What kind of creatures did he see? Describe them!”

  “Hairy. Bow-legged. Faces like wild pigs.”

  “Orcs? That would fit,” the old man murmured. “How many orcs attacked him?”

  “About a dozen, sir.”

  “What kind of weapons?”

  “Clubs. One had a huge axe.”

  “And they attacked him on the plain?”

  “Yes, sir. I ran into the forest to hide.”

  “The forest in the north?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say about invisible … archers?” said the seneschal, glancing down at his notes.

  “All I heard were the shots that killed the orcs. They shot one arrow at my feet and one into my backpack. I kept that one.”

  “Does he have it with him? The arrow?”

  “It's in my backpack.”

  “Have the messenger's backpack brought here,” the seneschal ordered the sentries at the gate, at which one of them immediately left the room.

  The old man turned back to his notes and seemed to forget that Nikko was there. For his part, Nikko was glad that the interrogation had not gone as far as Thorodos, and he wondered how he might answer a possible question about the purpose of his trip to Hymal.

  The sentry returned after a few minutes, carrying Nikko's backpack. He handed it to the seneschal. Nikko held his breath, because his magic wand was also inside the pack. If the old man were to find that, he would certainly have some questions to answer. But the seneschal directed the guard to give the pack to Nikko instead, who quickly took out the arrow and handed it to the old man. He scrutinized the finely wrought piece for a long time, in particular the engravings decorating the arrowhead, before finally nodding thoughtfully.

  “He has done this landgraviate a great service,” he said, his voice now solemn. “He is due our gratitude. In addition, the landgraviate sees fit to reward him with ten pieces of silver. He is, however, not yet free to leave. For now, he shall remain our guest here in the castle.”

  “Thank you, lord,” said Nikko, honestly surprised, and he accepted the silver with an self-conscious bow.

  “The servant will show him to his quarters,” said the seneschal, concluding their meeting, and he gestured to the lad to leave.

  Nikko ate a quick but delicious evening meal in the servants' kitchen, then retired to his room. He had been given a room in the part of the castle where the landgrave's emissaries slept: a great privilege for a farmer's boy, the servant had assured him.

  He was certainly tired—it had been a long and tiring day, after all—but could not fall asleep. His long session with the seneschal had made him feel extremely uneasy. He did not know why he couldn't just leave again. He had a lot to think about. Too much, really, to allow him sleep soundly. Alone in his room, he realized how far he had come. Barely three weeks
before, he had left Vyldoro as a guileless goatherd with old Thorodos, but now here he was, a guest, lying in a soft bed somewhere in the middle of the landgravial castle. Where would things go from here?

  It must have been late in the evening. Nikko still lay on his bed with his eyes open when he suddenly heard voices in the corridor outside, then a knock on his door.

  “Yes?” he said softly.

  The servant tentatively opened the door and ushered a second man inside. The stranger stepped into the room, and although Nikko could not make him out very well in the glimmer of light cast by the servant's lantern, he could see he was a noble.

  “That's him?” the man asked the servant, who smiled subserviently and nodded in affirmation. “So you're the messenger?” the stranger asked, now looking at Nikko. Then, without waiting for an answer, he said, “Danuwil of Bregánt.”

  Nikko was feeling rather confused, and had really no idea how he was supposed to react. “Hello,” he finally said, and quickly added, “I'm Nikko.”

  “You have been assigned to me as guide and helper,” said the newcomer. “We leave early tomorrow morning. A servant will wake you. Rest now. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

  Before Nikko could say another word, the nobleman had turned away again and left the small chamber. With his subservient smile firmly in place, the servant backed out after the stranger and locked the door from the outside, leaving young Nikko alone and confused in the darkness of the room.

  Chapter 6: Return to Vyldoro

  It was still almost dark when a different servant woke Nikko the next morning. It had been a short night and the boy had not slept well. He felt correspondingly seedy, but did his best to choke down some of the bread and honey that someone had brought to the room.

  “Your own things are not dry yet, lad,” said a chubby woman in a white bonnet, startling him as she bustled unexpectedly into his small room. “Pull these on instead.” She lay a pile of neatly folded clothes on his bed, then pulled the door closed from outside with a loud clack.

  Nikko had gotten used to the feeling of the elegant page clothes, which felt so soft against his skin. The new clothes were coarser, made of stiff cloth and leather, and no doubt better suited to the long journey that the stranger had spoken about the day before. As soon as he had pulled on the tunic, he noticed the Hocatin crest displayed prominently on the left side of the chest, and a feeling of pride came over him at being allowed to wear the landgravial uniform.

  Shortly thereafter, a servant came and collected him. Nikko was now fully dressed in his new clothes and with his backpack on his back, freshly filled with supplies, the magic wand safely stowed inside. Excited and nervous, he was looking forward to the journey ahead.

  The hazy sky in the east was just starting to brighten, the rising sun hidden behind heavy clouds when Nikko and the servant appeared in the yard of the castle, which was still deserted. The only people waiting there were the nobleman, whose strange name Nikko had forgotten again, and another man that Nikko did not know, but who held the reins of three large horses. Nikko hoped he wouldn't have to ride. His father, many years earlier, had tried to teach him the rudiments of riding, but Nikko had been too afraid of the huge beast to ever get very good at it. No one in Vyldoro actually needed to be able to ride, but there were many who did it just for fun. Besides, the few horses up in the mountains were working nags, mainly used for hauling logs and large stones.

  “Good morning,” the nobleman yawned.

  “Good morning, my lord,” Nikko said quietly.

  “Please excuse the early departure, but I want to take the opportunity to ride with the messenger as far as Vylrahdo. From there, you'll lead us on foot.”

  “Excuse me, my lord,” Nikko replied, confused, “but where am I supposed to be leading you to?”

  But the nobleman simply rebuffed him. “I'll explain all about my mission later. For now, we'll ride together to Vylrahdo.”

  Wasn't that the guesthouse in the valley where Nikko had spent the night with Fodaj and his sons? There were only two ways to go from there, to Vyldoro or to Skingár. Was he going to have to lead this strange nobleman to his home village? But not on to Hymal again, surely …

  The nobleman nimbly mounted up and positioned his horse behind the messenger. Nikko was less adept, and the horse was really very large, and in the end the servant had to come to help him into the saddle. With trepidation, Nikko realized just how much larger this beast was than the one he had had to learn to ride on years earlier.

  The messenger got his horse moving at a walk, which was a great relief to Nikko. Behind the messenger came the nobleman, at home on horseback. Nikko had no great problems getting his unpredictable animal to walk behind the two ahead. Moving at that speed, he felt at least slightly confident that he would not fall off.

  But as soon as they passed through the gate at the stone bridge that led into the town, the messenger increased their pace to a light trot. When their blue-blooded traveling companion did the same, Nikko had no choice but to keep up. To his great joy, however, they had to stop briefly at the east gate, which was still closed and barred at that early hour. The short break gave Nikko a chance to pull himself together and wipe the sweat of fear from his brow, but the guard on duty opened the gate for the landgravial messenger without delay.

  Once outside, the messenger once again brought his mount to a fast trot, and kept it up for a good hour. By then, the lad had grown more accustomed to the horse, but he could not have said he was enjoying the ride.

  The day had brightened considerably and the clouds had dissipated somewhat, allowing an occasional ray of morning sunlight through. But with the better light, the messenger picked up the pace considerably, which terrified poor Nikko. Close to panic, the lad did his best to keep up with the far better riders ahead of him. He jabbed its flanks with his spurs, hoping against hope that the beast wouldn't bolt on him.

  The messenger changed pace often. He seemed not only to be intimately familiar with their route, but could also judge how well the horses were doing as they rode. The last stretch had to be taken at a walk, as the road grew increasingly steep.

  It was just before midday when they finally arrived at Vylrahdo. Nikko found it unbelievable that they had completed the distance in half a day. With Fodaj, it had taken more than two days for the same journey. But the merchant's ox carts were ponderous and slow by comparison, Nikko knew.

  “A magnificent estate,” the nobleman grumbled, surveying the rustic guesthouse, with its stone-walled lower floor and wooden upper part, as he dismounted. “Looking at it now, I wonder if we wouldn't be better off just moving on. How far is this—,” the man hesitated and pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, then read in a pompous voice, “—Vyldoro from here, lad?”

  “A day's march, a little less, my lord,” Nikko answered. He tried to dismount himself, but the attempt only ended with him suddenly lying flat on his back in the mud.

  “How much less?” the nobleman asked, looking down at Nikko and stifling a smile. “Could we manage it by this evening?”

  Nikko got back to his feet. “I don't think so, my lord. It took me eight or nine hours to come down. It will certainly take longer going uphill, and it gets dark fast here in the mountains.”

  “All right, then,” said the nobleman with resignation. “Then it looks like we'll have to spend the night here.”

  Nikko was relieved to hear it. After all the hours they'd been in the saddle, it wasn't only his back that hurt. He had no interest in heading on to Vyldoro immediately.

  “My thanks for the horses, messenger,” the nobleman said, his voice taking on an imperious tone. “We don't require them any longer.”

  “I'll take care of them, my lord,” the messenger replied obediently, and led the beasts away.

  “Well, lad, let's take a look inside,” murmured the noble, moving hesitantly toward the guesthouse entrance.

  Nikko grabbed his few things and went off after his new tr
aveling companion, who carried a backpack of his own and a colorful shield emblazoned with a silver gryphon on a blue ground. For the first time, Nikko noticed the long sword dangling from the man's belt in an elegant leather sheath. Such a weapon told anyone who saw it that the man was someone of standing.

  There was little activity inside the guesthouse at that early hour. The landlord with the bushy moustache was immediately aware of the presence of the blue-blooded guest, and greeted him with a deep bow.

  “How may I be of service to our esteemed gentleman?” he asked subserviently.

  “A room for myself and my … companion,” the nobleman ordered. “Bring food and wine for two.”

  “As you command, my lord,” the proprietor kowtowed.

  The room was large and surprisingly clean. There was one large bed and a smaller one in a separate corner. In the center of the room stood a table at which Nikko and the nobleman were seated. The landlord had set out roast wild pig, steamed vegetables, bread and fresh fruit, and a large jug of some kind of red drink.

  Now that Nikko could take a closer look at the nobleman, he reminded him a little of the southerners who had passed through Vyldoro the year before. His wavy, shoulder-length hair was black and glossy, and the man clearly took good care of it. He wore a small, neatly trimmed goatee on his narrow chin. All in all, he was a dapper, middle-aged man with deep-set, dark eyes, dressed in glistening, dark-colored leather and fine black cloth beneath which snow-white frills adorned the collar and wrists.

  “Vile,” the man muttered, as he took a solid mouthful of the red drink. “What I wouldn't give for a bottle of red from my homeland right now!”

  Nikko, too, could find little good to say about the brew. But he found the fatty roast pig delicious. The nobleman, however, seemed to be used to finer fare, and screwed up his face in disgust as he ate.

  “A good transition to the sparse meals ahead in the field,” he murmured, and followed that with a resigned sigh before turning his dark eyes to Nikko. “Oh, that's right. I guess I ought to acquaint you with my mission.”