The Silver Serpent
Chapter 18|Karkwall
The giant towers interspersed along the massive stone wall surrounding Karkwall rose before them like sentinels in the morning mist. Oskar stood in his stirrups in an effort to see over the soldiers who rode in a square formation around him and his companions. This was his first visit to a city and he did not want to miss anything.
“Many of the great cities have an outer city,” Larris explained. “People set up stands to hawk their wares outside the city gates, or camp outside the city looking for work. Enough of them put down roots and a sort of town grows up. Not here, though. At least, not anymore.
“Orbrad was so paranoid,” he paused when Martrin cleared his throat loudly. “Excuse me. Orbrad, wisely fearing infiltration of his capital city, had the outer city razed. Residents had to either find a place to live within the city or leave. The land around the city was totally cleared of trees, rocks, anything that an attacker could use, and it is now regularly patrolled. For a league on every side, there is no cover. He may not control his own country, but his capital city is at least held firmly in his grasp.”
“With all due respect, your highness,” Martrin spoke in a slightly strained voice. “We have made great strides in taking control of the lands outside our city. The road we have traveled for the past four days is well patrolled.” He turned his head to stare back at Larris. “Fortunately for you,” he added with a smirk.
Allyn looked at Oskar and rolled his eyes. Oskar stifled a laugh. Expressions of humor were rare for Allyn. Larris ignored them both.
“Captain Martrin, you have my thanks for the timely intervention of you and your men, as well as the escort to Lothan. Your King will hear of your good work,” Larris replied magnanimously.
“Your Highness is too kind,” the soldier replied blandly. “But doing my duty to my country is all the thanks I need.”
“Which are you, Captain?” Khalyndryn asked. “Which tribe, I mean.”
Martrin took a deep breath and held it for several heartbeats before answering. “My grandparents were Monaghan. When the tribes rebelled, my father remained loyal to the crown. He is a soldier, like me.”
“So your allegiance is to your king rather than to your tribe?” Oskar asked.
“My allegiance is to a united Lothan.” Martrin turned and smiled. “Take that as you will.” With a snap of the reins, he urged his horse forward, riding slightly ahead of the rest of the group.
They rode quietly for a while. Oskar took in the amazing sight that lay before them. As they drew closer to the city, he could appreciate the craftsmanship behind the mammoth city walls. What had appeared to be little more than great, grey, bulk was constructed of countless granite blocks, fitted together with such precision that he doubted one could slide a knife between any two of them.
Martrin led them around the long line of carts and wagons that waited outside the city gate. The gates themselves were huge, more than four times the height of a mounted man. They were constructed of heavy timbers, cross-braced, and bound in brass. Giant chains ran from the back center of each door to winches on either wall.
Two soldiers, clad in uniforms like those of Martrin and his men, each armed with a spear, stood at attention on either side of the gate. A number of others, Oskar guessed there were ten, were busy inspecting cargo, checking papers, and interrogating those waiting for entry. As they trotted by, one wagoneer, a farmer by the look of him, scowled and spat a thick wad in the direction of their party.
“How crude,” Khalyndryn said, frowning and leaning away, as if the phlegm might leap up onto her dress.
“I might feel the same way if I had to wait in that line,” Hierm said.
Oskar expected their party to be halted at the gate, but as Martrin neared them, the sentinels at the gate clapped their fists to their hearts. Martrin returned the salute, and led them through the gates and into the city.
What he saw made him gasp in surprise. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Where the area outside the city walls had been stark and empty, the city pulsed with life. More people than Oskar had ever seen in one place moved shoulder-to-shoulder through the narrow thoroughfare. Peddlers sold their goods from carts on either side of the hard-packed dirt road.
The city had a haphazard feel to it. Houses were interspersed with taverns, inns, and shops with no apparent planning. All of the buildings were close together, some actually built against one another. Most were in a state of disrepair, and seemed to lean in toward the street, giving Oskar a vague feeling of having the breath squeezed from him.
Two women looked out of a second story window, waving and calling out to passers by. Oskar noted with mild surprise that they were clad only in their underclothes, and had painted their faces in a most unseemly fashion. One of them saw him looking, and called down to him, suggesting something that he had thought was a physical impossibility. He heard Khalyndryn gasp, and Shanis chuckle wickedly. He surprised himself by shouting back an insultingly low price, which prompted the woman to bite her thumb.
“Oskar!” Shanis said, laughing. “If your mother could hear you right now…”
“Sorry. Just excited to be in the city.” And he was, in fact, almost giddy with joy at being in a real city. There was so much to see. There were more people and buildings in the area immediately surrounding him than in all of Galsbur, or so it seemed.
“Country oaf,” one of the soldiers muttered. He spat on the ground and fixed his stare in the opposite direction.
Oskar ignored him. His eyes sought to drink it all in. To his left was a man dressed in the gaudiest clothing he had ever seen, juggling three colored balls, then four. He tried a fifth, but a stumbling, drunken fellow careened into him, sending the juggler and his balls tumbling into the roadway. The juggler’s curses, though inventive, did not top those of the women at the brothel.
As they moved toward the center of town, the dirt road changed to cobblestone, and the buildings were in better condition as well. Larris explained that these sections of the city were organized into residential and business districts. Even the people were better dressed, and comported themselves in a calm, quiet manner that Oskar found quite boring. A few paused to give cursory bows in Martrin’s direction. The soldier acknowledged each with a curt nod.
“How far do we have to go?” Khalyndryn asked, eyeing a tall man dressed in silks.
“There,” Larris pointed ahead of them to a hill that rose out of the city’s center. A crenellated wall of gray stone encircled the crest of the hill. Behind the wall rose the keep. Not an architectural marvel, it was a massive square structure with narrow windows. Atop it, the flag of Lothan, an orange fox against a field of dark green, rippled in the breeze.
Oskar trembled. He was going to see the inside of a real castle. He could scarcely believe his good fortune. Oh, the letter he would write to his family. His family. His heart sank. Doubtless they had given him up for dead by now. Perhaps he could send word to them without jeopardizing Shanis. They deserved to know that he was all right. All of their families should know that their children were safe. He resolved to speak with Allyn about it later.
Such was his fascination with the sights of Karkwall that it seemed mere moments before they arrived at the outer wall of the castle. It was much taller than it had appeared from a distance. The solid stone walls, eroded in places by time and weather, spoke of ancient strength. He craned his neck to look up at the battlements. Through the low embrasures he could just make out the figures of soldiers walking the wall.
They approached the outer gates, massive structures of wood bound with brass, set in an archway in the wall. They were met there by a squad of soldiers, each uniformed in the same fashion as Martrin and his men.
“State your business,” one of the guards ordered.
“Martrin, a loyal soldier of Lothan, brings visitors to see His Royal Highness, King Orbrad.”
Oskar’s head swam. Him, a visitor to see the king? He sat very stil
l, in hopes of not rousing himself from this most amazing of dreams.
The guard bowed to Martrin, then called for the gates to be opened. After a long moment, a loud creaking filled the air, and the gates slowly swung apart. At Martrin’s signal, they proceeded through the gates, coming to a halt on the far side of the wall at a heavy iron portcullis. Behind them, the gates ground closed, leaving them shut inside the wall. Oskar looked around. The walls were a good fifteen paces thick. He noted that above them, a pattern of holes were spaced at regular intervals in the archway above them.
“Murder holes,” Allyn explained. “Defenders use arrows, long spears, or even boiling oil to attack invaders from above.” His smirk was incongruent with the horror he described.
“The walls are hollow, then?” Shanis asked, looking around.
“Not entirely, but tunnels run throughout them,” Allyn said. “The keep is highly defensible.”
Oskar shook his head, partly in amazement at the ingenuity, and partly at the grisly mental image of soldiers trapped inside the wall being skewered by invisible enemies.
Another group of guards waited on the opposite side of the portcullis. The earlier ritual was repeated, and the portcullis was raised. Martrin led them at a quick trot down a cobblestone street lined with fruit bearing trees.
They soon came to an inner wall, not as imposing as the outer wall, but sizeable none the less. A few paces short of the wall, the road divided. Oskar could see that it ran along the wall’s face in either direction, and disappeared around the squat towers at each corner. Martrin led them to the right.
As they followed behind, Oskar took in the layout of the castle grounds. To his left, between the road and the heavy, angled batters that formed the foundation of the inner wall, lay an open, grassy area about ten paces across. To his right, between the road and the outer wall, a small orchard grew, and alongside that, a small garden. Both were tended by servants in green livery.
They turned left at the walls corner, revealing that the road and grassy swath encircled the inner wall. On this side, the area between inner and outer walls was occupied by crafters shops, a smithy, an armorer, a stable, and a corral. A mix of soldiers and liveried servants moved in and around the various buildings.
“Close your mouth before you draw flies.” Larris drew his horse alongside Oskar’s mount. “Servant’s quarters and a small, spring-fed pond are on the opposite side. Barracks are on the far end, near the inner gate.”
“It’s amazing,” said Oskar. “I never imagined it would be so…” he searched for the right word, “so massive.”
“It isn’t the most beautiful castle I’ve ever seen, but it is well planned and easily defended,” Larris said.
“I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Khalyndryn said in whispered awe. He eyes sparkled with childlike wonder.
It seemed only moments before they arrived at the inner gate. They dismounted and turned their horses over to a group of stable hands. Martrin’s men departed for their barracks, while a detachment of foot soldiers escorted the remainder of their group through the gate and into a broad, grassy area, the “inner ward”, Larris called it, that encircled the keep.
The massive doors of the main castle stood open. They entered into a dim hallway, illuminated by torchlight. Ornate tapestries depicting battle scenes were hung on either side of the hallway, doing little to detract from the austerity of the immense stone fortress.
A thin man with silvery hair and a pointed nose met them inside the doorway. He rubbed one hand absently across the breast of his silk doublet. The other hand cupped his clean-shaven face. He regarded them with a disapproving frown.
“Hmmm. This will not do at all. I say, it will not do.” He turned and clapped twice. Two servants, one man, one woman, clad in the same green livery that Oskar had seen throughout the castle grounds, hurried to his side.
“Clean them up. Put them in some decent clothing. They are to be presented to His Majesty.” He turned to walk away.
“Ah, Master…” Larris spoke up. The man turned, the frown still etched upon his face.
“Bertram,” the man said, looking disapprovingly at the travel-worn young man.
“Thank you. Master Bertram, our presence here at this time is, shall we say, a delicate issue. Your discretion in presenting us to His Majesty would be greatly appreciated.”
Bertram’s lips curled into a sneer. “If you will forgive me for asking, young man, who might you be to make such a request of the king’s steward?”
Martrin stepped forward. “Forgive me, Master Bertram. May I present His Royal Highness, Prince Larris of Galdora?” The soldier did not try to hide his amusement as the steward’s face fell in slack-jawed amazement.
“Please accept my most heartfelt apologies, Your Highness.” Oskar was impressed at how quickly the man recovered his composure. “I will certainly address your situation with the utmost care. If you and your retinue will permit me to make you comfortable?” He motioned toward the servants, still waiting for them to follow.
“I will take my leave of you now, Your Highness.” Martrin bowed deeply to Larris.
“You have my thanks for your invaluable assistance, Captain Martrin,” the prince replied. With a wave of his hand, he signaled for Oskar and the others to follow behind the servants into the heart of the castle.
Oskar waited outside the throne room with Larris, Hierm, and Allyn. The fancy clothes in which they had dressed him were comfortable, but felt… ‘wrong’ was the only word to describe the feeling. Silks were for women. He hadn’t minded the bath, though. He closed his eyes and remembered the exquisite feeling of hot water washing down his back, leaching away weeks of dirt, and with it, the aches and pains of travel. Washing in cold streams was no substitute for a hot bath.
Hierm had created quite a scene when one of the servants had tried to bathe him, yelling and jumping out of the tub, only to remember that he was naked, and jump back in with a splash that sent soapy water everywhere. The indignant servant had left in a huff, suds covering the entire front half of his body.
“Where are the women?” Bertram snapped at the servant girl who was hurrying toward them.
“A thousand pardons,” she said. “We had trouble getting the redhead into a dress.”
Oskar looked past her to see Khalyndryn and Shanis coming toward them. Khalyndryn looked positively regal. Her blonde hair was piled up on top of her head, and held in place with jeweled pins. Her dress was of deep blue silk, cut to accentuate all of her curves. She smiled with delight as first Allyn, then Larris greeted her with a bow and a kiss of the hand. Oskar and Hierm probably should have done the same, but they were distracted.
Shanis wore a dark green dress, cut high at the thigh and low at the chest. The black dye had been washed from her hair, which she now wore pulled back in an intricate series of braids interwoven with gold thread. She walked stiffly, as if she feared falling. Her angry countenance was as close to purple as Oskar had ever seen on a person.
“Don’t either of you dare laugh,” she growled. Her hand clutched at her waist, seeking the hilt of her absent sword.
“Shanis, you look exquisite.” Larris swept past them. Dropping to one knee in front of Shanis, he reached for her hand.
“Stuff yourself, Larris.” She snatched her hand back and folded her arms across her chest. She stood, tapping her foot and staring at the ceiling.
Bertram’s eyes widened, and he made a squawking sound in his throat, which he attempted to cover with a cough. “Excuse me, Highness,” he said. “His Majesty awaits.” Larris and Allyn followed the steward through the open doors and into the throne room. Oskar and Khalyndryn entered next, followed by Hierm, then Shanis.
The throne room was immense, with ornately carved columns supporting a high vaulted ceiling. Colored floor tiles formed the flag of Lothan in the room’s center. Set against the far wall was a dais of polished marble, topped by a massive throne of dark red wood, lac
quered to a high sheen. Spread across the back wall, framing the throne, was a giant tapestry woven into a map of the lands between the ocean in the east and the Walls of Stone in the west. Oskar was amazed at the detail. There was Galdora, almost in the center!
“Kneel, you dolt,” Bertram hissed in his ear. Oskar looked around and saw that on either side of him, the others had dropped to one knee, heads held low. Shanis dress had ridden well up her thigh and he could almost feel the heat from her blushing. He hastily took a knee, with Bertram dropping down alongside him.
“You may rise,” said a bored voice. Oskar stood, along with the others. Smoothing his new doublet, he looked for the first time at the king of Lothan. He understood now how the ruler had escaped his notice. King Orbrad cut a wholly unimpressive figure. Just past middle years, the king was of average height, with plain brown hair that hung limply around his pale, round face. His body was thick around the middle, his arms and legs skinny. His robes were too big, the cuffs hanging down to his fingertips, and the unadorned golden crown atop his head appeared dangerously close to being too much for his thin neck to bear.
“Your Majesty,” Bertram intoned, “may I present His Royal Highness, Prince Larris of Galdora.”
Larris placed a hand across his stomach and genuflected. Orbrad’s nod of the head was cursory at best.
“Shall we dispense with formalities, Larris?” Orbrad asked in his slightly nasal voice. “I find them most tiresome.”
“And I, as well, Orbrad.” Larris seemed unfazed by the presence of one who, at least technically, outranked him.
“What business do you have in my country that you could not forewarn me of your visit?” Orbrad asked, leaning forward and lacing his stubby fingers together in his lap.
“My apologies. No offense was intended,” Larris said. “My business is only to pass through as quickly and quietly as possible. I saw no reason to trouble you.”
“Your brother would not happen to be negotiating with one of the rebel tribes, would he?” Orbrad’s voice grew more nasal as he spoke. “I am sure it would suit Galdora to have even more unrest in my poor kingdom than I already have.”
“Not at all.” Larris sounded as if he were trying to calm an unsettled mount. “I am on a task of my own. One that lies beyond the bounds of your kingdom.”
“Larris,” Orbrad said, “what business could you possibly have beyond my kingdom? There is nothing there, save mountains and wild men.”
“I regret that I cannot disclose my plans. I respectfully ask that you accept my word that I have no intentions, neither good nor ill, with regard to your kingdom.”
Orbrad stared at Larris for a long moment before sitting up and visibly relaxing. “I suppose I have no reason to disbelieve you.”
Oskar felt himself relax as well. He had not realized how tense he had grown during the exchange.
“You must permit me to hold a banquet in your honor. Karkwall receives too few noble visitors. Once your arrival is announced, the palace will be teeming with bootlickers within the hour.” Orbrad chuckled ruefully.
“I am truly grateful for the offer, but the situation is delicate,” Larris said. “My father does not exactly know where I am right now. Neither does my brother. I would like to keep it that way.”
Orbrad laughed again, a hard, snorting sound. “That explains why you wanted the throne room cleared before you came in. I wondered at that when Bertram told me.” He paused for a moment, looking over the group. “I don’t think I want to know what you young ones are about. Understand, however, hospitality is of the utmost importance in Karkwall. You come dangerously close to insulting me. Is there nothing I can do for you, aside from keeping your secret, that is?”
“I would be grateful if you would permit my man,” Larris nodded at Oskar, “and I access to your library for the day. I’m something of a scholar, and have long wanted to visit it.” Oskar’s head swam. A royal library!
“My library?” Orbrad sounded scandalized. “Suit yourself. Bertram will show you all to your quarters, and see to it that you are fed.” Larris bowed, and the others followed suit.
“Will you be sharing a room with your women?” Khalyndryn paled at Orbrad’s question. Shanis actually smiled and stared at Larris with an expectant look.
“Ah, no,” Larris mumbled. “They will require rooms of their own.”
“See to it,” the king said to Bertram. The steward bowed to his liege, then hastily led the group from the throne room.
“We’re going to find it,” Larris whispered to Oskar. “I can feel it!”