Chapter 19|The Library
“We are never going to find it,” Larris said, closing the book with a cavernous thud.
Oskar fanned away the dust that rose from the ancient tome. “Don’t give up. We haven’t been looking very long, have we?”
“Since morning,” the prince replied. “It’s dark outside now.” He gestured toward the library’s only window, a small porthole set high in the wall.
Oskar was surprised to see the night sky. The time spent in the library had passed quickly. To be in a palace library, surrounded by more books than he ever imagined existed, was beyond his most far-fetched daydreams.
“Try this one.” Oskar handed Larris a thick, leather-bound volume entitled The Wars of the Bogs.
“That isn’t it,” Larris said. “Robrus died long before any of those wars.”
“Maybe the pass is mentioned.” He was reaching, hoping, but he refused to surrender hope.
“The pass is in the mountains. The bog wars were fought in the south.” Larris closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. “I have a splitting headache.”
“Out on the road, you told us that there was a book in this library that you would love to get your hands on. Which book is that?”
“It is called Robrus’ Reign.” Larris held up a dusty volume. “I located it right away, but it does not have what I am looking for.”
“What do we have?” Oskar sat down next to Larris.
Larris sighed and dropped the book back onto the table. He swept the stack of bound volumes out of the way, and spread a roughly sketched map in front of them. “We know where the Ramsgate is.” He pointed to the upper right corner of the page. “We know that somewhere beyond it is what was once called Robrus’ Pass.” His finger slid to the left across a blank portion of the map. “Once we find the pass, we know how to get to Murantha.” His finger traced a path down the page, winding through a series of mountain peaks and ravines. Occasional landmarks were drawn in, with notes written to the side.
“Thanks to my map,” Oskar could not resist commenting. He was still swelling with pride over his contribution to the quest. “You did a fine job copying it, by the way.”
“So glad you approve,” Larris replied dryly. A hint of a smile crept up the corner of his mouth.
“What do we know about Robrus’ Pass?” Oskar pushed his chair back and propped his feet on the table, eliciting a hiss from the elderly librarian. He dropped his feet with a clump. The old man had left them alone some time earlier and Oskar had not noticed his return until now.
“Robrus led his army into the mountains west of Malgog lands to put down an incursion by a marauding force of mountain men. He pursued them for several days, chasing them deep into the mountains, until he found himself faced with an invading force of ice creatures and coldhearts.
“Coldhearts are…” It always bothered him to admit that he did not know something, but his eagerness to learn almost always outweighed his reluctance.
“Men who have given themselves over to the Ice King. Something fundamental about them changes. I have heard that they gain strength and longer life, but they lose much of their humanity. Driven only by their primal urges, they are incapable of empathy, of love. And once they go over, they cannot go back. Their heart has turned cold.”
Oskar thought about that for a moment. What would make anyone give himself to the cold? What good was a long life if you lived it under winter’s shadow?
“As I was saying, Robrus and his forces were badly outnumbered. The Ice King’s forces drove them into a narrow pass, where the coldhearts hurled stones and spears down upon them, keeping them moving. On a hill in the middle of the pass, more ice creatures waited.
“Robrus didn’t hesitate. He led his men in a desperate charge. Most fell to arrows before they reached the top. Those who made it to the top engaged in ferocious hand-to-hand combat. The defenders finally broke under the desperate assault of Robrus’ men, fleeing into the mountains.
“Of the men who began the campaign, only one in five lived through that battle. Short on food and supplies, they camped in the valley in which they had first encountered the ice minions. It is said that the valley was verdant, teeming with life. The deer were fat and lazy, and the stream that ran through the center was filled with silversides that practically jumped onto the hook. Some of the soldiers were so taken with the place that Robrus permitted them to remain behind. They founded a settlement and tended to the few wounded who remained.”
“I take it the name of the settlement has been forgotten,” Oskar said.
“It’s been centuries,” Larris said. “Even if we knew the name, by now it is likely to be known by another, if it exists at all.” He rubbed his temples and groaned.
“Does the story mention any landmarks?”
“Only that when the sun sets, the mountain peaks around the pass glisten like a golden crown.” Larris hung his head for a moment, then pounded his fist hard on the table. “Freeze it all! I will not let Lerryn beat me. I will not!”
“Larris, I…” Oskar paused as four soldiers, swords at the ready, moved quickly and silently into the library. He looked behind him to see who they might be after. Funny, he was certain that he and Larris had been alone all day, save for the librarian. He turned back around to find a sword leveled at his throat. Another soldier moved quickly behind him, and pressed the tip of his own sword into Oskar’s back. Alongside him, Larris was in the same predicament.
“What are you about?” Larris showed no sign of fear, but instead sounded affronted.
“Do not speak,” the soldier in front of Oskar ordered. “Slowly put your hands behind your back and fold your fingers together.” Completely baffled, Oskar complied. The coarse rope bit into his wrists as the soldier cinched it tight. This had to be a mistake. Larris was a royal guest. He pitied these soldiers once King Orbrad found out they had arrested a Galdoran prince.
Guarded on all sides, they were led through the library and out a small door in the back, one so inconspicuous that neither of them had noticed it before. The door opened onto a dark, narrow corridor. Not bothering to light a torch, the soldier who had spoken to them, a thick man with hair the color of rust and a pitted face, turned right and led them into the darkness. The hallway had not been used in some time, Oskar thought, spitting out a mouthful of cobwebs. He crinkled his nostrils and tried not to breathe in the thick cloud of dust that had been stirred up by their passing.
The passageway ended at a stone staircase which they descended. The party wound their way down into the depths of the castle. The air grew cooler, and his boots slipped several times on the slick, wet steps. Oskar brushed against a wall, feeling damp moss climbing the cold rock face.
From the bottom of the stairs they moved through several twists and turns before coming to a halt before a heavy wooden door. Faint torchlight flickered through a small, grated window set at eye level in the door’s center. Their guide rapped twice. After a moment, a face set in deep shadow against the faint light appeared. Another moment, and the door swung slowly inward. Oskar was dizzy with disbelief as they stepped through the doorway.
Sputtering torches set in brackets on the wall sprinkled flashes of firelight onto heavy iron cages that spanned the far side of the room. A dungeon!
“Are you men daft?” Larris shouted. “I am…” The soldier bringing up the rear cuffed Larris at the base of the skull with the hilt of his sword. The young prince stumbled forward. Unable to catch himself with his hands bound at his back, he fell heavily on his face. Two of their captors each took an elbow and dragged him toward a cell in the far right corner of the dungeon. Still guarded by two men and feeling a bit queasy, Oskar followed behind.
The man who had let them in now scurried ahead, a heavy key ring clinking in a thick fist. The jailer, Oskar assumed. He was a round man, with muscular arms and spindly legs. He opened a cell, and the soldiers tossed Larris inside. Someone gave Oskar a rough shove from behind and he s
tumbled over Larris’ limp body, falling to one knee. He sucked in his breath sharply as he heard the door close behind him.
“Oskar,” a voice whispered from behind him. “What’s wrong with Larris?” He looked up to see the faint outline of Allyn coming toward them with Hierm following behind.
“They hit him,” Oskar explained, as Hierm helped him to his feet and relieved him of his bonds. “He fell pretty hard.”
“Will he be all right?” Oskar turned to see Khalyndryn and Shanis, mere shadows, in the next cell. They were pressed against the bars, straining to see.
“Don’t ye be worryin’ about yer lad.” The jailer, a man as smelly as he was ugly, stood just outside the door to Oskar’s cell, his arms folded across his chest. His smile revealed several stumps of teeth partially obscured by an oily moustache and beard. “The boy’ll be awake in plenty of time to watch me have my way with both of ye girlies.” He cackled a mad, mindless laugh.
Shanis cursed loudly and spat at the man, who stepped back a few paces and continued smiling.
“Don’t ye be doin’ that now. I’ll have to be turnin’ ye over to the boys in the other cells if ye can’t mind your manners. They won’t treat ye nice like I’ll be doin’.” With a chuckle, he turned and walked away.
Khalyndryn began to cry. Oskar walked over to her, and reached through the bars to take her hand. She drew back quickly.
“Do not put your hands on me,” she sobbed. “Don’t anyone touch me.” She scurried into the back corner of her cell, where she dropped to the floor and sat with her knees against her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, trembling.
“Bad memories,” Shanis explained with a nod in the girl’s direction. She reached out and clasped Oskar’s hand. “I’m so glad the two of you are all right.”
“We are fine. How about you?” His head swam with disbelief. One moment he had been reveling in the joy of being a guest in a castle, the next, he was a prisoner in a dungeon.
“Oh, just lovely.” Even in the darkness he stood close enough to see her roll her eyes. “I don’t know which is worse: being in a dungeon, or being in a dress.”
Oskar had to chuckle despite their plight. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but that dress makes you look…” he paused, “female.” He flinched as Shanis punched at him through the bars. She didn’t let go of his hand, though.
“Did they tell you why we’re in here?”
Oskar shook his head. “They only told us not to speak.”
“At first I thought it must be a mistake,” Shanis said. “Now I wonder if perhaps someone from one of these warring tribes might have something to do with it. Perhaps they thought taking a royal hostage might somehow help their cause.”
“How?” Oskar failed to see the logic.
“I don’t know.” She let go of his hand, and turned her back to him.
Oskar felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see that Larris had regained his feet, and apparently his senses.
“I wouldn’t put it past Orbrad to allow guests to be whisked out from under his nose.” Larris said. “But none of this makes sense.”
The loud scrape of the dungeon door opening interrupted their conversation. It swung wide, illuminating the damp chamber. Two men approached, looking like dark, wavering specters in the flickering torchlight. One was the jailer. The other was King Orbrad.
“Orbrad,” Larris said. “Open this door. I have business with this man.” He fixed the jailer with a contemptuous scowl. “You won’t mind if I dirty the floor of your cell with his blood?”
“Let you out?” Orbrad’s detached grin did not match his cold voice. “Why, you only just arrived, Your Highness. Do you tire already of my hospitality?”
“Your guards dragged us down here, one of them dared strike me, and this vermin,” he pointed to the jailer, “threatened the dignity of the young ladies in my charge. If you find humor in this situation, I fail to see it.”
“The humor, my young friend, lies in the fact that you assume that all of this happened without my knowledge.” Orbrad smiled like that cat that ate the cream. “My little birds have been singing in my ear, don’t you know?”
Oskar’s knees buckled. He grabbed a thick bar to support himself. Orbrad knew?
“I know what you are looking for.” Orbrad reached beneath his cape and produced a rolled document. Oskar recognized their map. “This does not tell me a great deal. Not enough. I would know everything you have learned.”
“I will tell you nothing,” Larris said. “My father will…”
“Thanks to your demand for secrecy your father does not know that you are here. Nor does anyone else, save a very few trusted members of my household and guard.”
Oskar felt sick. The king was right. No one knew where they were. They were utterly at his mercy.
“You have tonight to consider the situation. If you are forthcoming, I promise you a quick death. If you are uncooperative, Moggs here,” he clapped a hand on the jailer’s shoulder, “will begin by questioning your women.” The way his face contorted as he said the word ‘questioning’ indicated to Oskar that asking questions would be the last thing Moggs would do.
“It will be done in your presence, Highness. If watching them suffer does not move you, we will put every one of you to the question in the most painful of ways. I shall save you for last.”
Allyn snarled with wild fury and leapt against the front of their cell. His curled fingers reached for Orbrad’s throat. Moggs thrust his torch at one of the young man’s forearms, and Allyn drew back.
Larris put a hand on his friend’s chest, shoving him away from their captors. He set cold eyes upon the king of Lothan.
“I will see you dead, Orbrad. You have made the biggest mistake of your error-riddled rule. Enjoy the days you have left.”
The rancor of the whispered words chilled Oskar. For a moment, he believed that Larris would do it. He didn’t know how, but the words sounded more a vow than a threat.
Orbrad began to speak, but something stopped him. Likely he lacked the wit to compose a suitable response. He briefly met the young prince’s gaze before turning away. As he exited the dungeon, he paused and looked back at them.
“I will give you the night to think on what we have discussed. Pleasant dreams.”