Two months after Garegon’s army was defeated, I put forth my plan to explore and re-open the old castle. I decided that it was best to do a section at a time. I began with the section that contained Nightshade’s library, the secret armory, and Coenbrand’s old suite. That section contained over thirty rooms, many of them hidden. Theof was a tremendous help in that regard—he had an uncanny knack for finding secret doors and his knowledge of the hidden passages and rooms in the parts of the castle which he used to use was absolute.
The armory was the most time-consuming room. In most of the rooms of the section, I used squads of soldiers along with castle servants to secure, then clean, and make an inventory of anything found. But a few rooms, the armory especially, I treated differently. I decided to keep the armory’s location secret. Nightshade renewed the illusions in the outer room, and set various magical protections in the armory itself, while Theof went to work resetting the mechanical traps in the room.
It was cataloguing that took the most time. The armory was huge and stuffed full with the treasures acquired by a group of very successful adventurers and travelers. I pointed out to Theof, Nightshade, and Jeremiah that at least part of that treasure was theirs.
“We’ve got more gold than we know what to do with,” said Nightshade. “And I certainly don’t want more clutter around our castle. Keep it Dexter, use it for whatever you need. However, a lot of the items that we locked away here were cursed. We’re going to have to go through it all, sort out the enchanted items and determine what you’ve got. Frankly, I don’t remember half of what we put in here.”
Nightshade, my mother, and Francis did the research on what the items and artifacts in the armory were. Brin, Jeremiah, Theof, and I recorded their findings. There were literally hundreds of enchanted objects. But, as Nightshade had warned, at least half of them carried some form of curse. A good portion of the remaining items were fairly minor—potions of the sort that Francis created, recipes for protection charms, a basin that when emptied would refill with water in an hour’s time, a spade that could dig by itself—things that were useful certainly, but not devastating in their power. There were dozens of enchanted weapons, swords that were sharper than any mundane weapon and never grew dull, daggers that could cut through stone or metal like butter, spears and arrows that always flew straight, axes, and many others.
As I was recording the location and properties of a group of potions, Theof threw a sheathed sword to me.
“Try this on,” he said. “This was Coenbrand’s sword before Nightshade forged Harbinger. It was made on the Eastern Continent by an elven master smith and Mage Meggri. It can cut through just about anything, is practically as light as air, and is perfectly balanced. It doesn’t have Harbinger’s extra abilities, but it won’t talk back to you either.”
I examined the sword. It was obviously very old, but the blade was bright and razor-sharp. As Theof said, the balance was perfect and the sword felt like an extension of my arm. But I controlled it and when I thought at it, there was no answering voice in my head. I had been carrying my father’s sword, but it had never fit well. I decided that I would give it a place of honor in my suite, but I would carry Coenbrand’s old sword.
Inventorying the armory took a long time. Some of which included removing all of the non-magical treasure. I decided that the coins, the gems, and all of the jewelry could be housed in the current vault. When it was transported it was counted before being placed into the vault. I kept jewelers from Dunlevy on hand to appraise the jewelry and the gemstones. When it had all been moved and the final tally figured, the wealth of Pozzelby had more than quadrupled.
The first thing I did was lower taxes. The second action I took was to create a list of projects that I wanted to undertake. That is still ongoing as I keep thinking of new ideas, or am given good ideas by my advisors. On the list is a military academy, a college with a medical school, a museum to house the artifacts that I was certain we would find in the old castle, programs to help the poor, and programs to increase our trade capacity. I wanted to renew contact with our neighbors and the rest of the world. We had become overly provincial and somewhat secluded as a nation.
The only thing that I wanted to build that I did not yet put on the list was a library. More than anything I wanted to find Pozzelby Castle’s fabled lost library. It’s here somewhere and I plan on finding it. When I do, then I will begin adding to it and plan on opening it to scholars whomever they are and from wherever they come.
****
Nightshade and Jeremiah stayed with me for over four months before they returned to the Isle of Unity. Nightshade showed Brin and I how to use her magic mirror with a standing invitation to visit. I told her that when the weather gets cold here, then we will come and see them.
Theof stayed for almost exactly one year, which I suppose for an elf is a short time. He sent Jalos and his men back to Lorsan a fortnight after the battle concluded. But he stayed, regaling us with stories and helping in our efforts with the old castle.
I got used to the day-to-day routine of ruling. Three days a week, I gave audiences to those who needed or desired them. A week from the day that Theof had left, I was in the audience chamber. I had seen three peasants who represented their respective neighborhoods—one had experienced floods, one had an outbreak of disease, and one had been having trouble with pirates. All needed help. I had also met with two earls, one from the coast and one from the mountains, and a fortune-teller trying to get a royal appointment.
“I’ll do one more before lunch,” I told Layred Vu. “Who’s next?”
“A scholar by the name of J. R. Grimble,” he said.
“Really?” I was impressed. I knew of the man. He was said to be working on the most complete history of Pozzelby that had ever been written. “Show him in.”
Grimble was a portly, older gentleman with a bald head and a long, white beard. He bowed stiffly; the movement seemed to pain him somewhat.
“Come, Mister Grimble, no need for that. Please have a seat,” I said.
I indicated for him to sit on the chair just one step down from where I sat as a sign of my respect for his profession. He sat down gratefully.
“Thank you, my King.”
“What can I do for you today, sir?”
“Well, Sire. I am a scholar, an historian. I have heard that you are someone who appreciates history.”
“Yes, and I have heard of your work. It sounds fascinating and very ambitious,” I said.
He brightened up at that.
“Oh yes, it is fascinating. I have been working on a history of our country the like of which has never been seen. For thirty years I have been working on this and am getting close to finishing it, another year or three. However, I have had a setback. My patron, the Duke of Quintley has recently died and his son, the new duke, is not a scholar. He has ended my patronage and cut my funds. This is disastrous. In Bagwar’s Run, I have located a seller who has acquired some very special items for me—maps and written accounts of the residents of this castle, some over a thousand years old. But I have no way of getting there now, let alone purchasing the items from him.”
“Maps you say? Of Pozzelby Castle?”
“So I was told. I still have to examine them for myself. But I have dealt with this man before, he is a collector of rare things and has been fair and honest in the past.”
Floor plans that old might help me pinpoint exactly where the library was built, I thought. I was so excited by the prospect that I wanted to go to Bagwar’s Run with the historian. I could not do that at the moment, so instead I said,
“Sir, you have a new patron. I will personally fund all of your work and help you to see it through to fruition. The only thing I ask is that I be allowed to read your source materials. And perhaps to study your techniques.”
“Absolutely, Sire. Thank you.”
“Now, you will need an escort to Bagwar’
s Run. It can be a dangerous trip you know. We’ll put together a caravan and I will give you fifty soldiers, no seventy-five, will that suffice?”
“Yes, Sire. It will. Thank you.”
“Now, I was just about to eat lunch. Will you join me? Good. Tell me, Mister Grimble, do you play chess?”
The End
About the Author
Erik Martin is a native of Cleveland, Ohio, who has resided in North Carolina and currently lives in sunny San Diego. Besides being a writer, Erik has worked as a social worker, a police officer, a book store owner, and, briefly, delivered singing telegrams. Erik holds degrees from Cleveland State University and Guilford College, and currently attends San Diego State University as a master’s degree seeking student. He has been writing seriously since 2010 and has completed several short stories that have been published online and in print. Dexter of Pozzelby is his first published novel. . He enjoys receiving feedback and can be reached by email at ec.martin.writ
[email protected]. Join his blog at www.martin-inabind.blogspot.com.
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