Two Heirs (The Marmoros Trilogy Book 1) (47 page)

“You’ve done well, you and Feynor. Thank you.”

David turned to Jeren. “Well, my prince. This was not what I was expecting but it’s very welcome news. This is the culmination of your vision. Why don’t you go with Ash now to be the first Lyenar in years, to set eyes on the Neverwinter valley? I will go back and bring the wagons through.”

“No!” Jeren said with a determined expression on his face. “That is not how it will be. We would not have got this far if it was not for you, my lord. Ash can send his man back to bring the wagons through. You and I will ride through the tunnel together, Lord Held.”

When they reached the outer gates, it was almost a surprise. They rounded a sharp bend in the trail and the gates were there, not twenty paces in front of them across a small clearing. If they had been expecting something spectacular, the reality was less so. The gates were not large; tall enough for a wagon or a man on horseback and less than two wagons width. They were closed when they arrived and the sunlight reflected fiercely off the burnished metal cladding. As the gates opened to Ash’s hail, David could see a full two hands breadths of solid wood behind the cladding. He also noticed openings cut in the rock face above the gates where defenders could fire down on
any attackers.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to attack these gates,” he remarked to Jeren as they passed through into the gloom. They returned the salute from Feynor’s guards and urged their horses slowly forward. The tunnel was about a hundred paces long and curved slightly to the left. There was a faint glow of light from the far end and with the light from the opening behind them, they could just make out the holes in the roof and walls above them.

They emerged through an identical pair of gates at the far end of the tunnel and paused for a moment, blinking their eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. Feynor came hurrying across to greet them.

“Welcome Prince Jeren, my lord. Welcome to Neverwinter.”

They dismounted and Feynor led them up a short incline to a rocky promontory which was obviously used as a lookout post across the valley. The Savage River as it curved down towards them, formed the entire right hand boundary of the valley with steep rocky cliffs on the far side. On the near side was a huge flood plain covered with fields in various states of neglect and bounded on the left by a low cliff of some harder rock that the river had not yet eroded.

The road up the valley ran along the top of this cliff. It was quite clearly a road rather than a trail, although in urgent need of maintenance in several places. The land to the left of the road was mostly pasture at this end of the valley but away in the distance they could see the remains of fields and orchards, again suffering from neglect. In between the road and these fields and running the length of the valley, was a deep, weed-filled ditch about ten paces across. Curious, David pointed it out to Jeren.

“That is or was the Grand Canal,” he replied fighting back the tears. From the tone of his voice, David could not determine whether the tears were of joy at seeing the valley, or sorrow at its neglect.

“My father used to tell me of the barges that were used for the heaviest loads; to bring blocks of marble down to the gates and help carry the harvest back into the city. What harvest?” he stopped as he choked off a sob.

David put an arm around the young man’s shoulder. “The land is still the same, Jeren. The river will still flood every spring. With people here who love the land and want to work the fields, it will bloom again.”

He pointed to a gleam of white at the top end of the valley. “Marmoros?”

Jeren nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes. The city was too far away to make out any detail but it was, at last, within view.

“We will camp here tonight,” David ordered. “We’ll bring the wagons onto that large pasture to the left. Then tomorrow, we will leave the wagons and you will lead every man, woman and child who can ride, to demand the surrender of the city.”

“Why not take the wagons?”

“They’ll slow us down. Besides, I want the people in the city to see a huge body of horsemen. They won’t know that most of them are not warriors. They will only see the numbers.”

“And if they don’t surrender?”

“They are already beaten, Jeren. If they intended to fight, they would not have surrendered the gates. You will go there tomorrow with a full honour guard of red cloaks and demand the return of your
birthright. They will not resist. They will ask for terms.”

“What terms do you suggest I offer them?”

“That’s not for me to say, my prince. That is something you must discuss with the council and the Queen Regent tonight.”

***

The city gates were almost as well protected as the entrance to the valley. The road ended at a bridge across a fast flowing river that tumbled down from the hills to the left and rushed past the whole frontage of the city before dropping down again to join the River Savage. On the far side of the bridge was a pair of gates that looked identical to the ones at the tunnel. To the left of the road bridge, a second bridge carried the dried up bed of the canal to an opening in the wall, protected by a portcullis with an improvised barricade of rocks and stones behind. There were many faces peering over the top of the walls but David could see little evidence of helmets or weapons.

The width of the road restricted the number of riders who could approach the gates so they had deployed most of the people across the fields and orchards to the left with a line of heavily armed fighters visible in the front rank. On the road, David led the procession, dressed once again as a herald and with Baltur alongside him. Behind them were Jorgen’s red cloaks, surrounding Jeren and Falaise and then the entire council, dressed in finery rather than armour. David halted the procession at the approach to the bridge and hailed the walls.

“In the name of Prince Jeren, the rightful heir to the throne of Marmoros, I demand that you open the gates and surrender the city.”

After only the briefest of delays, a portly priest appeared on the walls above the gates with a thin, shrewish woman by his side.

“Yuris, my fat friend. You survived the journey. And lost a bit of weight by the look of it. Tell me, who is the lady by your side?”

“My name is Deribe,” the woman replied. “I am the wife of Lord Kraxis.”

“Alas no, madam. You are wife no more. You are now the widow Kraxis.” David reached into the canvas sack tied to his saddle and produced the warlord’s head. He held it up on display for everyone to see. There were a few cries of horror along the walls and many faces disappeared from view. Yuris and Deribe held a hurried conversation before the priest called down again.

“May I come down to discuss terms, Lord Held?”

“You may. Just yourself and the widow Kraxis.”

David whispered to Baltur. “Fall back and let Jeren take your place now.”

As the two changed places, the postern gate opened and Yuris stepped out followed by a stunningly beautiful and heavily pregnant, young woman. David and Jeren dismounted and walked forward to the centre of the bridge.

“I specified the widow Kraxis,” David stated.

“This is the widow Kraxis,” Yuris replied. “I’m afraid the news has caused the Lady Deribe to be indisposed, so she sent the Lady Yolanthe in her place, Lord Kraxis’ second wife…er widow.”

“I see. Is that Kraxis’ child you are carrying, my lady?”

“It is, my lord.”

“And are there any other wives that we should be aware of?”

Yolanthe flushed to the tips of her ears as she replied. “No, my lord. Only the Lady Deribe and myself.”

“It appears that Kraxis displayed much better taste the second time around,” David remarked.

“The terms, my lords?” Yuris interrupted. “What terms do you offer?”

“We require the unconditional surrender of the city,” Jeren replied. “All citizens to lay down their arms and offer no resistance. For our part we guarantee that there will be no killing and with a few exceptions, all citizens will be free to leave the city or stay as they choose.”

“And the few exceptions?” Yuris prompted.

“Any immediate family of Kraxis, including Lady Deribe, Lady Yolanthe and yourself.”

“So you will hold us as hostages? For how long?”

“If you do not cause any trouble, you will be treated as honoured guests and you will only be held as long as is necessary to secure the safety of the city. On the other hand, I remember my
father speaking of dungeons beneath the palace.”

“You do not paint an appealing picture, Lord Jeren. But under the circumstances, it seems we have little choice. The gates will be open in one hour.”

They were turning back towards the gates when David spoke.

“Wait. The Lady Yolanthe will stay with us. You can go and make the arrangements. And in the hour that you have, you will assemble all the town officials and anyone else in authority to meet us in the palace when we arrive.”

“I protest, my lord,” Yuris started to say.

“Do not push me on this, priest. You have one hour.”

***

The gates opened precisely on the hour and Feynor and his men ran through to secure the gatehouse and the surrounding walls. The royal coach that they had used at Highport, had been brought to the front and Falaise and Yolanthe rode inside while Jeren headed the procession through the gates on his stallion.

The bulk of the people on their carthorses, had been sent back to collect the wagons with orders not to start arriving at the city until the following morning. As soon as the council were inside, David brought the rest of his men in and sealed the gates with orders to let no-one in or out.

Inside the gates, the canal bed widened to provide a number of wharves, against one of which the rotting remains of a barge could still be seen. To the right of the wharves, the street opened into a large market square with an inn and shops on three sides. All except the inn were shuttered and closed.

Opposite the market square, two stone bridges spanned the canal, each wide enough for two wagons to pass comfortably. Each bridge led into a wide avenue running ruler straight for five hundred paces up a slight incline to the palace gates. The area between the two avenues had once been filled with gardens and fountains but was now a wilderness of weeds and ruined statuary. To right and left of the avenues were the mansions that had once belonged to the most powerful families. Some of the houses showed signs of occupation but most were in need of repair.

At the top of the avenues, the palace dominated the city. As the procession crossed the first bridge and moved up the avenue, it became obvious that, here at least, some attempt had been made to maintain the building in its original condition. The central part of the palace was three stories high with two story wings stretching out on both sides. The entire façade was two hundred paces across and constructed of white marble. It wasn’t a brilliant white but one which seemed to glow and radiate the warmth from the rays of the afternoon sun.

The gates of the palace were open and they rode through onto a paved courtyard fifty paces across and running the whole width of the building. On the far side of the courtyard, six semi-circular steps led up to a pair of imposing bronze doors. Yuris and half a dozen local dignitaries were standing at the top of the steps.

Jeren dismounted at the foot of the steps and stood there waiting. He was joined by Falaise and David who also waited with every appearance of boredom. Eventually, Yuris took the hint and ushered the group down the steps to make their obeisance and introduce themselves.

“Take us to the audience chamber,” Jeren commanded. “And where is Lady Deribe?”

“Unfortunately, the Lady Deribe is still indisposed, my lord. The news, I fear, has distressed her terribly. She asks to be excused.”

David turned and signalled to Jorgen. “Take the red cloaks and find her. Search the whole palace if you have to but find her and bring her to the audience chamber. I don’t care how indisposed she is.”

Yuris conducted them through a set of double doors into a large antechamber with, on the far side, an attractive open courtyard running the length of the room. They crossed the courtyard into a smaller antechamber and then through another set of doors into the audience chamber itself. It was an impressive room with a high vaulted ceiling and windows set high into the side walls to fill the space with natural light. There were wooden benches set along both sides with carved wooden panels above them bearing the family crests. The far end of the room was raised by three steps and occupied by two magnificent gilded thrones.

Jeren took Falaise’s hand and led her up the steps to the larger of the two thrones.

“No, my son. That honour is yours,” Falaise said moving towards the smaller throne. “You are the heir to that throne and it is your right, and yours alone, to sit on it.”

As Jeren seated himself, a spontaneous cheer went up from the watching councillors. Yuris and the city officials looked round a little startled and then hastily made a deep bow to their new ruler. Jeren signalled them to stand in a line before the steps as David led Yuris and Yolanthe to one side and sent Jaks and Izzy to find chairs for them. The councillors retreated to the benches at the sides and a few squabbles broke out over precedence in the seating order.

“Is there a problem, my lords?” Jeren called out.

“A minor problem only, your highness,” Grekan replied. “The panelling around the walls represents the hierarchy of families at the time we left Marmoros, not as it is now.”

“The panelling is there to impress the uninitiated, Lord Grekan. Rest assured that I know the true position of every man in this room and that is all that matters. I will have carpenters re-order the panels as soon as practicable but for now, I would ask you all to sit beneath your family crests and accept the minor irritation of sitting out of position.”

Grekan bowed his head in acquiescence but Meriden stood up in his place.