The Warden Threat

  ~*~

  King Leonard of Westgrove sat at his desk besieged by armies of reports, all of which he almost regretted requesting. On his left flank, a report from Foreign Relations said Gotrox had sent out an uncommon number of couriers recently, and it labeled the activity suspicious. On his right flank, a fifty-page report by Trade informed him of changing trade patterns with the neighboring kingdom. A large number of different things might be causing this but they could indicate that Gotrox anticipated war. The report included charts and graphs, which added little to the meaning. Their final conclusion remained carefully inconclusive. Economists! Making a frontal assault on his composure stood an alliance between Intelligence and the Military, both concluding that the Gotroxians were probably up to something, but exactly what this might be remained uncertain. Both confidently predicted they would be able to get to the bottom of it after they conquered the stoutfolk kingdom, if not before, as though he should find this somehow reassuring.

  He rose from his chair and began to pace pensively. Nothing his advisers had uncovered yet could be considered firm. He felt annoyed but not surprised by this. He ordered the first inquiries regarding the rumored Gotroxian threat less than two months ago in response to his Chief Adviser’s suggestion. It became a major intelligence gathering effort only over the past few weeks. Distance, time, and resources conspired to keep the answers he wanted from him. This would not be the first time he would have to make life or death decisions without conclusive facts nor would it be the first time he hated having to do so. What were the Gotroxians up to?

  A knock on his door reminded him of the appointment with his youngest son. Damn! He did not have time for social visits right now. Sure, he wanted see the boy. He was his son after all and he loved him. He simply could not spare the time because of far higher priorities. Donald played no role in this current crisis and remained far too inexperienced and untrained to get involved now or to be of much help he did.

  Rationally, the king knew he accomplished everything he could with the information at his disposal, and no amount of pacing or pondering would be likely to provide any greater insight at this point. Yet at an almost instinctive level it felt like he should continue until a solution presented itself.

  Maybe a short break would help. And this meeting might do the boy some good. He did feel generally pleased with him, despite the screw-up with the note. He must not forget to speak to him about this. It would be a good learning experience. At least he showed some initiative, which is one of the things he hoped Donald would learn on his tour of the kingdom.

  He also needed to consider the effect on his wife. Somehow, Donald had convinced the queen of the importance and urgency of this meeting. Leonard figured he knew exactly how. She saw her baby upset and wanted to make him happy again. Well, if a short meeting could make them both feel better, he should get it over with to maintain family tranquility, such as it was.

  “Enter,” he called.

  The door cracked open and one of the soldiers who pulled royal go-for duty that day announced, “Prince Donald to see you, Your Majesty.”

  “Yes. Please send him in.”

  King Leonard returned to the seat behind his desk, pausing to take a deep breath when he passed the open window.

  Donald stepped inside, noticeably trying, albeit rather unsuccessfully, not to look nervous. His freshly shined boots thumped dully on the carpeted floor of his father’s private study.

  “Welcome home, Donald,” the king greeted his son. “How did you enjoy your tour of the kingdom?” There, that should put a good dent in the appropriate social pleasantries. Say hello to the boy, welcome him back, and chat a little while. Two out of three taken care of already with a good start on the third. This would not take the full hour.

  “Very well, thank you, Father,” his son replied stiffly, refusing the offered seat. He immediately began an obviously practiced narrative.

  The king saw feigned confidence in his son’s presentation. He knew the look, familiar from across conference tables and other battlefields. Leonard noted the stiff, exaggerated movements, the formal manner of speech, and the logical, planned progression of events and ideas. The boy clearly wanted to project self-assurance, but he was simply too inexperienced, or too naturally honest, to be able to pull it off very well.

  He told his father about rumors he and his companions had heard about the mobilization. He told him about their conversation with General Attemill in Barter’s Forge, their discovery of the scroll in Muce’s shoes, the chance meeting with the Reverend Tripgood, and their visit to the Warden. He told him about an attempt he had made to animate the enormous black figure, his subsequent meeting with the Warden Museum’s curator, and his conclusion that the Warden itself could not possibly present any kind of threat to Westgrove.

  King Leonard sat silently listening, occasionally stroking his neatly trimmed beard in bemusement while his son presented his narrative. The boy seemed different. More grown up. Still obviously a kid in many ways, though.

  “I know,” Donald’s father eventually said.

  “You know?”

  “Most of it. The first part of your adventures you wrote about in your note.”

  “My note? Oh, the one I left…”

  “Yes, the one you left with that fancy-coach driver. It got here about three weeks ago.”

  “Three weeks! But I wrote it, uh, a while back. I thought it would have gotten here before that.”

  “You sent it with a coach driver, boy! Gonds don’t move very fast, you know, especially when they’re pulling something like a six-sleeper luxury coach. And I’m sure that delivering your note wasn’t the driver’s first priority when he did get to town, either. It made good time getting here when it did! And what were you thinking sending it like that, anyway?”

  “Um, sorry. They were headed straight for Greatbridge, and I just thought since they were, I’d let you know what I had discovered and where I was going.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You handed what you thought was an important message regarding what you knew were sensitive and classified matters to a carriage driver! Was he a Royal agent or military officer? Did you even know him?”

  “Um, no. But I sealed the letter.”

  “Wax, Donald. You sealed it with wax. Do you think a wax seal would stop anyone who really wanted to see what you had written?” He let a hint of exasperation show in his voice, not all of it acted out for dramatic instructional effect.

  “I guess I didn’t think of that, either,” the prince said sheepishly.

  The king considered the lesson taught. He took a deep breath to re-center himself and continued. “That’s all right. No harm done, but learn from this. Next time you want to send a note, take it to the nearest way station. If it’s urgent or sensitive, leave it with the garrison commander with instructions, otherwise just give it to whoever is on duty. It will get here.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Now you do.”

  “But it really doesn’t matter now anyway, does it? I mean, everyone seems to know you are mobilizing the army to confront Gotrox. Even out away from the city, peasant boys are joining the army to be a part of it.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid that cat, as they say, is out of the proverbial bag.” The king shook his head in mild regret, his wild mane of gray hair unsuccessfully dusting burdens from his red robed shoulders. “I knew it couldn’t be kept quiet for long, but it seems to have gotten out much more quickly than I hoped.”

  “Well, it’s all over now anyway.”

  “Yes, King Motte probably knew we were suspicious of him, anyway. Now he must know for certain about our preparations.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean you can stop the mobilization now.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  A look of confusion passed over Donald’s face. “Um,” he finally began, “Because the Warden isn’t a threat?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I just to
ld you! I spent the last fifteen minutes telling you! Weren’t you listening?” The young prince almost yelled in frustration.

  “Oh, you mean the scroll. Do you still have it?”

  “Well, yes.” The king’s youngest son withdrew the stitched scroll of gond calfskin from a pouch at his belt.

  “From the Veridical Tales of Rolf the Obstreperous, right?”

  “You know about those?”

  “I didn’t before. Some bright young researcher down in Intelligence found out about it as part of the investigation. There’s actually a copy of the old thing in the university library.”

  “So you know it’s a myth and you’re calling off the mobilization?”

  “Yes and no. I know about the myths, several of them now, actually, but I’m not calling off the mobilization.”

  “But it’s a mistake, you have to!”

  “Nothing would make me happier, but the Warden rumor is only the first part of all of this. Since then, I have gotten other reports indicating Gotrox may be planning hostilities.”

  “But they’re wrong! They must be!”

  “I have not dismissed that as a possibility, but they come from trusted advisers with good sources,” the king said aloud. He silently added, not an inexperienced boy conclusion-jumping. “The fact is, my boy, that myths can sometimes be true.”

  Donald’s surprised look asked his question for him. He apparently anticipated a different reaction.

  Leonard responded to his son’s expression. “Granted most often they are not, but they can be, or at least they can be based on something factual. If this is one of those admittedly rare times, the consequences are just too important not to act. Donald, I really do appreciate your concern and all of your efforts, but you must understand, just because you could not raise the Warden, doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

  Chapter Twenty