Zihaen

By Paul E. Horsman

Great second book to the exciting Fantasy series 'The Shadow of the Revenaunt'!

How did his parents and brothers die? Where their deaths really accidents, or were they killed? These questions young Ghyll Hardingraud must answer before he can ascend Rhidauna's throne.

Ghyll’s search for the truth leads him and his Companions on a journey back to the past as he slowly unravels a dark conspiracy.

Once crowned, the young King Ghyll still has to finish the mission his dead uncle imposed on him. The journey takes him and his trusted friends through inhospitable lands and dangerous swamps to the endless steppes of Zihaen, looking for the Voice from the West. He discovers he isn't the only one. His vindictive enemy pursues him, aided by undead forces.

Note from the Author: This version has been revised on some vital plot points.

Zihaen: “Full of all the elements of the fantasy genre, Mr. Horsman writes with dynamic symbolism and in-depth magical flair. His core groups of characters use their uncanny strengths and paranormal powers to heighten the plot's progression. The setting changes are extreme in nature, yet are described with sensory detail, making the ‘make believe’ visibly believable.” (Readers’ Favorite 5* Review)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul E. Horsman
• Release date: Jun 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9789491730207

Paul E. Horsman

Paul E. Horsman (1952) is a Dutch and International Fantasy Author. Born and bred in the Netherlands, he now lives in Roosendaal, a town on the Dutch-Belgian border.He has been a soldier, a salesman, a scoutmaster and from 1995 till his school closed in 2012 an instructor of Dutch as a Second Language and Integration to refugees from all over the globe.He is a full-time writer of fantasy adventure stories suitable for a broad age range. His books are both published in the Netherlands, and internationally.His works are characterized by their rich, diverse worlds, colorful peoples and a strong sense of equality between women and men. Many of his stories, like The Shardheld Saga trilogy and The Shadow of the Revenaunt books, have mythological or historical elements in them, while others, especially Lioness of Kell and his current Wyrms of Pasandir books, contain many steampunk elements.You can visit him at his website: www.paulhorsman-author.com.

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PAUL E. HORSMAN

THE SHADOW OF THE REVENAUNT

ZIHAEN

ZIHAEN Copyright © 2015 by Paul E. Horsman.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, peoples, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, peoples, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For information contact; www.paulhorsman-author.com

Cover design by Ravven

A Red Rune fantasy book

Second (Revised) Edition: July 2015

Paul E. Horsman’s books:

Zilverspoor Uitgeverij (Dutch Editions):

Rhidauna – De Schaduw van de Revenaunt #1

Zihaen – De Schaduw van de Revenaunt #2

Ordelanden – De Schaduw van de Revenaunt #3

Red Rune Books (English Editions):

Lioness of Kell

Shardfall – The Shardheld Saga #1

Runemaster – The Shardheld Saga #2

Shardheld – The Shardheld Saga #3

The Shardheld Saga trilogy

Rhidauna – The Shadow of the Revenaunt #1 (Revised Edition)

Zihaen – The Shadow of the Revenaunt #2 (Revised Edition)

Ordelanden – The Shadow of the Revenaunt #3 (Rewritten Edition)

MAP OF RHIDAUNA

CHAPTER 1 – RHIDAUN-LORN

Ghyll lay on his stomach on the sheets, naked and vulnerable. Wide-eyed, he stared at the priest beside his bed.

‘I’ll stay crippled?’

The healing priest’s round face was professional, expressionless, and without pity.

‘I’m sorry, Baron. The chirurgeon and I came to the same conclusion. The damage to your leg muscles is permanent. Not even our combined powers could restore the destroyed tissues.’

As he spoke, he rubbed sour smelling ointment into the scar on Ghyll’s back.

‘This should reduce the swelling.’ His deft fingers placed a linen bandage over the painful area. ‘It doesn’t smell pleasant and I will not tell you what it is made of, but it is effective. You can dress now.’

The priest wiped his fingers on a cloth his acolyte handed him. ‘There’s some good news as well. Your broken nose is almost healed. I will leave off the dressing. You should be cautious; the cartilage is still somewhat vulnerable.’

He paused and looked down at Ghyll. ‘I have one last bit of advice.’ For a moment, the healer’s contempt broke through his mask of objectivity. ‘Keep your sword in its sheath and avoid new honor fights.’ With a nod, he strode from the room with his helper.

Ghyll stared at the carpet, too shocked for words. Honor fights!

The door opened and Olle came in. ‘How is it?’

Ghyll looked at his foster brother’s anxious face. ‘The healer thought I had gotten my wounds in a duel.’

Olle growled. ‘What an idiot. Was that all he had to say?’

‘My nose is almost better.’ Ghyll sat up and leaned his head against one of the bedposts. ‘Only the limp won’t go away.’

‘That bastard Vasthul!’ Olle snapped, his brown skin coloring deep red in anger. ‘You’re a soft fool, Ghyll. You should have cut that sorcerer’s throat when you had the chance.’

Ghyll spread his hands. ‘I know. But that’s not what Uncle Jadron taught us.’

Olle’s eyebrows shot up. ‘No? I’ve always understood differently.’ His dark eyes studied Ghyll from head to toe and he shook his head. ‘You’re not hard enough.’

‘I’m already harder than I was,’ Ghyll said, annoyed. ‘Harder than I ever wanted to be. Let’s drop it. I can walk and ride with this leg. I’ll have to get used to it.’ He touched his nose with two fingers. ‘Leave me be for a while. I have some thinking to do.’

Olle nodded. ‘Don’t worry too much. If you need anything, I’m with the others.’

 Left alone, Ghyll stared at the dancing motes in the narrow beam of sunlight escaping the curtains. Crippled at eighteen. All because of Vasthul, that cursed Dar’khamorth sorcerer. In his mind, he saw himself walking around. Step, bonk, step, bonk; like Grogar, Tinnurad’s blacksmith. Only Grogar was as dead as the two hundred other castle folk.

Unwillingly he thought back to that day at the Yanthe Wachter, as he and Olle helplessly watched their castle burn. With trembling fingers he began to dress, his mind filled with images of drakenboats, flames and triumphant firebirds.

A soft knock on the door drove the hateful birds from his thoughts. ‘There is a messenger asking for you, my lord Baron.’ The footman sounded awed. ‘He comes from the palace.’

Ghyll started buttoning his shirt. ‘Let him come in.’

The courier was an older man in the blue-and-silver livery of House Hardingraud. He bowed and took a sealed document from the leather bag on his shoulder.

‘From the hand of His Grace the Regent,’ he said, in a tone meant to bring the recipient into a state of deep humility.

Ghyll thanked him and opened the missive. It contained only a few lines, written in a robust script.

If you wish to meet the Crown Prince of Opit, he is with me. His Highness has information that may be of interest to you. Kyssander.

Ghyll smiled. Clear and concise. The regent wasn’t a flowery writer. He rose and nodded to the courier. ‘Tell his grace I will be with him shortly.’

A slight frown crossed the man’s face at Ghyll’s casual reply. He bowed in dignified silence and left the room.

Ghyll went to the bell rope. ‘Ask the stable to bring my horse,’ he said to the servant who answered the summons. Then he walked into the living room where his friends were gathered, and got his sword from the rack. ‘I’m to the palace. The regent needs me.’

‘You’ll not go alone,’ Olle said. ‘I...’

‘I’ll go with him,’ Torril cried. ‘I can protect Ghyll as well as anyone.’ Challengingly, he looked around the circle.

Olle opened his mouth, but Ghyll was first. ‘Make it quick then, I shall not wait for you.’

Torril jumped up, grabbed his ax from the weapon rack and his cloak from its peg. Shouting for a horse, he ran out the door.

Olle snorted. ‘Young varmint. Why aren’t we all going?’

Ghyll’s mouth twisted. On the threshold, he paused. ‘Brother mine, I will be damned if I’ll hide behind your back. Torril shall be enough.’ He closed the door and limped downstairs.

Zinobad, Prince of Opit and Mandaba, was young, stout and of a warm brown complexion. His wide Opitian robe decorated with embroidered gold elephants and his turban with waving feathers made him shine like a purple pug in the cool throne room. His eyes laughed when he answered Ghyll’s bow – clearly he was aware of the impression he made.

‘Ooh, the mysterious Baron Halwyrd,’ he said. ‘His grace insisted I meet you.’

‘It is an honor, Highness,’ Ghyll said.

‘The prince told me something that will interest you,’ the regent said as they sat down. ‘It touches your recent meetings with golems.’

‘Golems!’ Torril cried. ‘Where?’ His fingers drummed on the handle of his ax while he gave the young exquisite a belligerent stare.

The prince blinked. ‘Not here. I must disappoint you.’

Ghyll clenched his fists. ‘Torril and I have met those makemen before, Highness. He reacts a bit more impulsively than I would, but our sentiments are the same.’

‘Exterminate them all,’ the young Nhael said eagerly.

Zinobad’s chubby face clouded over. ‘Duke Kyssander said your golems seemed warriors in black armor and were oblivious to fire. It made me think of my father. You see, nine years ago he was killed by such beings.’

His words struck Ghyll like a midriff blow. Had there been golems in Opit, even then?

‘Prince, we need to talk.’ His gaze slid through the elegant throne room with its omnipresent shadows, niches and obscure corners. ‘May I invite you to our inn? Our rooms there are safe from listening ears. Besides, my companions will want to hear your story, too. I hope the duke does not mind my robbing him of his guest?’

The regent cast Ghyll a sharp glance. ‘If you must,’ he said with a straight face. ‘May I suggest you tell his highness the truth?’

Ghyll spread his hands. ‘Nothing but the truth, Duke.’

Zinobad looked from one to the other. ‘The truth?’ he asked with raised eyebrows.

The regent stood up. ‘Baron Halwyrd’s secret,’ he said. ‘May I present you to His Royal Highness, Ghyllander III of House Hardingraud?’

The look of bewilderment on Zinobad’s round face was almost comical.

‘The king arrived at court yesterday, after an adventurous journey,’ the regent said. ‘It is his wish not to announce his arrival to the world just yet.’

The prince took a deep breath and bowed to Ghyll. ‘What a surprise! King Ghyllander, on behalf of my brother Mojalman I am happy to congratulate you upon your return.’

Ghyll’s color heightened. ‘Not many people know it yet, Prince. Except for my faithful friends, you are the third. I will explain everything at the inn.’

‘What a secret!’ Zinobad said and his eyes gleamed.

‘We princes are good at secrets.’ Torril straightened his tunic and grinned.

Zinobad looked at him. ‘We princes?’

Ghyll chuckled. ‘Our young friend here reminds me I should reveal his secret as well. This is Prince Torril Nikkelsen, second heir to the Nhael.’

Prince Zinobad’s mouth fell open. ‘The Nhael! Ooh, Rhidauna has signed peace at last?’

Ghyll looked at the regent. When the duke shook his head, he said, ‘Not yet. Prince Torril is here in a personal capacity. As a friend rather than as a representative of his country.’

‘Let’s go,’ Zinobad said urgently. ‘If I don’t get the whole story soon, I’ll die of curiosity.’

Once outside the throne room, it became clear that the prince had not arrived in Rhidauna unaccompanied. At the door, a pair of elderly men in dark robes met him, with a two-man honor guard in ceremonial cuirasses, and a trumpeter, whom he all ignored as they followed him through the long corridor. On the driveway, a wizened old groomsman waited with the prince’s mount.

Torril’s face turned bright red in surprise. ‘Drakes get me. What is that stupid beast?’

‘That, young barbarian, is called a camel,’ Zinobad said stern-faced, but the smile in his eyes betrayed him. ‘Caravel of the desert. Carries twice the load of a horse and can go a week without water. A noble animal, my friend.’

‘Noble!’ Torril burst out laughing. ‘He looks as stuck-up as the inn’s footmen.’

The animal sank to his front legs. The prince ignored the proffered knee of his groom as he hoisted his rotund self into the saddle. Rocking, the camel came up until Zinobad towered above Ghyll. Rhidaun-Lorn was a cosmopolitan city, used to visitors of many cultures. Yet people stopped and stared at the sight of Opit’s crown prince in his baggy clothing of royal purple and gold, with the plumes on his headdress moving in the languid breeze. Now the reason for the two soldiers became clear. They cracked their whips and roared. Slowly the awed mob parted. Then the trumpeter added his strident call. A small lane opened to let the prince and Ghyll ride forward.

Pale from embarrassment, Zinobad leaned towards Ghyll. ‘All that stuff is tradition. I hate it, you know, but my household insists.’

At the Crown of Rhidauna inn, the procession caused great excitement. The doors swung open and the host received his royal guest in person, bowing so low his nose nearly touched his knees. In the hall, they paused for a moment.

‘Very grand,’ Zinobad said with a straight face, glancing at the gleaming woodwork and well-polished chandeliers.

Ghyll hid a smile. Like most things in the capital, the Crown was a few sizes larger than elsewhere. Built as a ducal palace, it served only the best circles and its atmosphere was stiflingly pretentious.

In a row, they went upstairs, Ghyll and the prince, the innkeeper, the princely advisors, the little trumpeter and the menacing soldiers. The whole situation tickled Ghyll’s sense of the absurd, but Zinobad seemed to find nothing out of the ordinary about the ceremony. At the door to Ghyll’s apartment, he waved the innkeeper away and turned to his own followers. ‘Wait here.’ The advisors bowed and with the clatter of steel the soldiers took their places at the door.

‘Ooh, it’s so exasperating,’ Zinobad said after he had followed Ghyll inside. ‘Those followers, that camel, it’s all so very too much!’ He made a dismissive gesture. ‘To Greos with the lot of them!’

‘You won’t find any protocol here.’ Grinning widely, Ghyll threw open the door of the room where his friends lounged. Olle and Damion sprawled in chairs with their stockinged feet on a brass-studded chest, while Uwella sat at the table stitching the hem of a gown. Opposite her was Bo in wildly striped shirtsleeves, polishing a beeswax shine on his beautiful mage’s staff.

Ghyll coughed. ‘Friends, may I present you all to His Highness, Crown Prince Zinobad of Opit?’

The Companions stared open-mouthed at the stout prince in his costly robes.

Zinobad clapped his hands softly. ‘Ooh, how relaxed,’ he said. ‘No ceremony at all.’

Olle closed his mouth with a snap that was almost audible and pulled his feet from the chest. ‘You could have warned us, brother,’ he said grimly.

‘My foster brother, Olle thu Maubyn,’ Ghyll said, grinning. ‘Most of the time he has better manners, though. That fellow in the curious underwear is Bo Lusindral, our firemage, and the other guy is Damion. The lady is the wikke Uwella, who happens to be the Valvodjara of Vavaun. Let’s sit down. I asked Prince Zinobad...’ He paused. ‘Can we do without the titles? Call me Ghyll, that’s so much easier.’

‘I’m Zino, please.’ The prince dropped into a chair and beamed around. ‘This is so much pleasanter than my rooms in the embassy.’ With a sigh of relief, he took off his turban with the beautiful feathers and combed his fingers through his black wavy hair. He unbuttoned his tunic, freeing an unwarriorlike paunch. ‘That’s better. The weather is too fine to be wearing my best suit.’ He looked around. ‘Excuse me dropping in like this, friends. Ghyll invited me to come and talk about the golems. I want to know everything about them. Who are they? Where do they come from? What do they want? And above all, how can I exterminate a great many of them, as friend Torril so aptly remarked?’

‘Join us,’ the young Nhael said. ‘We already mashed a lot of golems to mud.’

‘Tell me,’ Zino said, his face flushed.

Ghyll raised his hand. ‘Let’s start at the beginning.’ He cleared his throat. It was still hard for him to speak about the fall of Castle Tinnurad without getting emotional. ‘The whole thing started with a boar hunt. It was a dark night, in the pouring rain, when Olle, Damion and I slipped away from our castle.’

Slowly and with an occasional searching for words, the story of the ill-fated hunting party unfolded. Once Ghyll arrived at that terrible moment when they found Tinnurad under attack and burning, the words left him and he stumbled to a silence.

Olle got up and walked over to the cupboard, returning with a handful of glasses and a bottle of red theridauner. ‘It’s still early,’ he said. ‘But it’s easier to tell the story with the sharpest edges dulled.’

‘Theridauner,’ Zino said, smacking his lips. ‘Back home, I’m supposed to drink Opitian wines. They aren’t bad, but this is yummy.’ He touched Ghyll’s sleeve. ‘I’m sorry about your uncle and all those people.’

Ghyll nodded. ‘We couldn’t do anything,’ he said heavily. ‘The fire was too hot and Damion needed urgent help.’ He took a sip and rolled the wine over his tongue. ‘Nearby Gromarthen took us in. I don’t know what I would have done if we hadn’t been welcome.’

He stared at the wine in his glass without seeing. ‘The day after, Olle and I returned to the island. We found only rubble and ashes. Lord Gromarthen had sent the Guard to search for survivors. The soldiers recovered eleven bodies. Eleven of the two hundred people we’d left sleeping peacefully the night before. Gods! The castle had been full of guests for my coming-of-age party.’ Desperation colored his voice, and without a word, Olle refilled his glass.

Ghyll rubbed his eyes. ‘Some things are beyond understanding.’ He emptied his glass without tasting anything. ‘When we arrived back in Gromarthen, the Guard had just repulsed a drakenboat attack on the nearby village of Haspen. That’s when we saw the first dead golems and found out they weren’t people, but mud-filled things. Makemen.’

Zino shuddered. ‘I’ve always had a fear of those black-clad men,’ he admitted. ‘But this makes them sound even nastier.’

‘As warriors, they weren’t impressive,’ Ghyll said. Suddenly he thought of something. ‘Maybe because they were controlled by sorcerers who didn’t know a thing about fighting?’

Olle looked at him dumbfounded. ‘What are you saying? Would they be more dangerous with a soldier as golemaster?’

‘No idea.’ Ghyll looked at his hands. It felt as if they were shaking, but they didn’t. ‘None of us realized yet the enemy was after me instead of my uncle. The Dar’khamorth found out we had escaped the massacre soon enough. They sent a sorcerer after us. Vasthul,’ he whispered, and his hands twisted the tablecloth. ‘May the rats feast on his black heart.’

He continued with the several attacks along the way, including the time Vasthul had almost stabbed him to death with a possessed knife.

When he was finally done, Zino stared at him. ‘What a tale. I don’t think it strange that Kyssander had trouble believing you. It’s epic. Was it a surprise, your royal status?’

Ghyll shrugged. ‘Yes. I was sure Jadron had sent me out to collect those regalia for him, no more. I mean, one doesn’t expect to become a king. Who in his right mind would want to inherit a throne?’

‘Not me,’ Zino said quickly. ‘Ooh, I wish Mo would hurry up with finding a wife, and begets himself a gaggle of kids. Then I’d be finally out of the danger zone.’

Ghyll emptied his wine cup. ‘Well, now you know our story,’ he said. ‘What can you tell about your father’s death?’

Instantly the smile vanished from Zino’s face. He lowered his eyes and his chin began to quiver.

‘My father. He was a good man. Everyone loved him, all the clans were happy with his reign. That’s why his assassination was so incomprehensible.’

Zino’s voice sounded far away. ‘There were seven of us at home: my parents, my eldest brother Mojalman, my big sister Yahanna, Meridan, Kerianna and me. Mo was fifteen. As crown prince he had his own rooms. My sisters slept in my mother’s wing, so Meri and I were dependent on each other.

‘One evening a strange maid brought us to bed. She said Ailas, who always cared for us, had fallen sick and that she was her replacement. We didn’t mind, Meri and I. What did we know? I was ten and he was eleven, my brother and my best friend. We were always together.’

Zino’s face twisted at the painful memories. ‘The new maid gave us both a pill. She said they were to prevent us from getting sick as well. Yes, that’s what she said. Only it was a sleeping pill and when I awoke, it had all happened. A black-leather murderer had killed my father and burned down half the palace. My mother and her people had rescued Mo and me from the flames just before the roof collapsed. Meridan? Something in that pill had poisoned him. Meri was dead.’ The prince bowed his head and for a while silence hung over the table.

‘The golems?’ Ghyll asked finally.

Zino looked at him with moist eyes. ‘Fled. They were invulnerable, the reports said. No sword or bow had been able to kill them. Funny really,’ he said, while the tears ran down his face. ‘At home we never speak of it. We’re not used to getting this personal in Opit. Yet now, with people I’ve never seen before, it’s a relief to do so.’

He rubbed the tears from his cheeks. ‘My mother never managed to discover who was behind the killings.’ He looked up. ‘Can you imagine my shock when Duke Kyssander told me of those golems? It sounded so similar. They must have been the same creatures and I had never heard of them or of this Dar’khamorth.’

Bo laughed without joy. ‘In Rhidauna we first encountered the name Dar’khamorth a few years ago,’ he said. ‘Uncle Jadron told me of some sorceress who had a change of heart and converted to Kathauna. From her we learned that an order of falmages existed, styling themselves successors to the Revenaunt’s Hamorth.’

‘Falmages, is that how you call them?’

Ghyll shrugged. ‘Falmages, fallen or dark mages; they’re not just the Dar’khamorth, but also everyone dabbling in forbidden magic. Officially they’re called sorcerers.’

At that moment, a footman looked in. ‘There is a Major Tibaun for you, my lord.’

‘Take him to my room, I’m coming. I’m sorry, Zino,’ Ghyll said. ‘I need to see that man about the strange death of my family.’

Zino looked at him, shocked. ‘Were they too...?’ He blushed and did not finish his sentence.

Ghyll looked grim. ‘I don’t know if it was murder. That’s what I want to find out.’

‘Go quickly, you can tell me later. I’ll be fine here.’ The prince smiled at Olle and the other Companions. ‘In Mandaba I have only subjects, no one to just talk to.’

The major from the King’s Heralds didn’t look a soldier. He was short and slender, with graying, close-cropped hair and a carefully tended beard. Instead of a guards uniform, he wore a knee-length tunic; though a faint sound when he sat down betrayed he wore a chainmail shirt underneath. At first sight, no one would take him for a soldier. He could be anything: a merchant, a craftsman, even an artist. Or, thought Ghyll with a trace of his old humor, a spy.

‘You seem to me a man of many faces, Major,’ he said.

Tibaun smiled. ‘That is part of my job, Baron Halwyrd. Adaptability is very important for a Herald. Well, the lord steward said you wanted to see me. What can I do for you?’

Ghyll tried to organize his thoughts. DeGrathain had warned him to be careful with this man. Tibaun wasn’t supposed to find out who Baron Halwyrd really was. Ghyll swallowed at the thought. Am I trying to lead my own intelligence service by the nose?

He sat up cautiously, stretching out his leg to ease the strain on the wound. ‘I understood from Baron DeGrathain that you keep the reports on the deaths in the royal family?’

Tibaun stilled. His smile remained, but the humor faded from his eyes, giving way to something else Ghyll could not immediately identify.

‘I have the reports,’ the major said slowly, ‘although I never worked on any of them myself. Guard Command tasked General Davall with the inquiries. It’s been so long... may I ask why you are interested in these matters?’

The echo of suppressed bitterness in the major’s voice surprised Ghyll. ‘It was the regent’s idea,’ he said without a blush. ‘You will be aware of the murderous attacks on Castle Tinnurad and the village of Haspen?’

Something flickered in Tibaun’s eyes. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘The news of Tinnurad’s fall and Baron Jadron Halwyrd’s death were a great shock to the Heralds. But what...’

Ghyll’s hands gripped the armrests of his chair. ‘Tinnurad had been destroyed by both firebirds and golems; in Haspen’s case there were only golems involved. Once the enemies at Haspen had been defeated, the guards found among the disabled makemen a dead human male in a black robe, possibly the sorcerer who steered the constructs.’

Tibaun stared at him without moving. ‘Such corresponds to my information,’ he said finally.

Ghyll nodded. ‘There is a strong resemblance between this sorcerer with his makemen and the assassins who killed King Idrami of Opit, nine years ago.’ He watched the major as he said this, but Tibaun only raised his eyebrows.

‘Indeed? I heard of the murder, but not who did it.’

‘Prince Zinobad told me,’ Ghyll said. ‘Warriors in black leather, who couldn’t be slain by fire or arms, he said. I would describe the destroyers of Tinnurad the same. That’s not all, Major Tibaun. Early this year, black-clad men with firebirds raided several villages on the Nhael Islands.’

‘Is that so?’ the major said slowly. ‘It is rare to get news from the Nhael. How did you come by this knowledge?’

Ghyll bit his lip. Careful now. ‘From an impeccable source, Major. According to my informant the attackers were only interested in the drakenboats.’

Tibaun blinked his eyes. ‘Drakenboats...’

‘Which, in turn, were used in the assaults on Tinnurad and Haspen,’ Ghyll added. ‘Can you follow the regent’s thoughts, Major? Opit, the Nhael, Tinnurad – do our own royal deaths fit somewhere in that list? It is my task to find out.’

‘There were no golems involved in the royal accidents,’ the major said, startled.

‘Not as far as we know.’ Ghyll looked at his visitor. ‘But what exactly do we know about those strange deaths?’

Tibaun drummed on his knee as if struggling with something.

‘Too little,’ he said. ‘Davall’s investigation wasn’t a miracle of efficiency. That was not the general’s fault, but of the people who gave him his instructions. Davall, then colonel, had to do the entire investigation besides his daily work as the adjutant of the 6th Corps, and he lacked time. Of necessity, he had to leave the interrogations and all other footwork to a subordinate, an inexperienced junior officer. That didn’t make for a sound inquiry, I’m afraid.’ Tibaun frowned. ‘Those stupid interdepartmental jealousies! The Heralds should have done the investigations. That is our job after all. My predecessor did not sit well with the Guard Command of those days, and we were passed over in this whole matter. Extremely regrettable.’

For a moment, neither man spoke and in the sudden silence wafted the voice of a fishmonger through the window, extolling her ‘Fresh whiting, this morning’s ca-atch!’

The major shifted in his chair. ‘The court was incapacitated by the events and Davall did the best he could. I remember from his notes his conviction that all the deaths had been willful murders. He lacked evidence, however and thus the three cases are still booked as accidents. I would like to go after the truth, but I have neither the money nor the people. Had I known of a relationship to happenings outside our country, I might... no, as long as the Heralds are part of Guard Command, my hand stay tied. Still, I will keep my eyes and ears open. Is that why Prince Zinobad is here at the inn?’

Ghyll laughed. ‘There isn’t much you miss, is there? That has to do with it, yes.’

‘We are supposed to miss nothing,’ Tibaun said. ‘I know everyone in your company.’ He coughed. ‘Except the boy. We haven’t been able to trace his identity yet. You weren’t going to tell me?’

‘I’m sorry, Major. The boy doesn’t threaten the safety of the realm and the regent knows his credentials. You will have to make do with that.’ Ghyll smiled politely and the major smiled back. Both knew that the Heralds wouldn’t rest until they had found out who Torril was.

‘I understand,’ Tibaun said. ‘Well, I will have the inquiry reports delivered to you. You can keep them; what you will get is a copy. I assume you will treat them discreetly.’

‘Of course.’

‘With every report comes a list of the people who were involved and who were interviewed. I can’t say whether the addresses are still correct. After all, the information is eighteen years old.’

‘Thank you.’ Ghyll hesitated. ‘Davall. Is he related to Lieutenant Davall at Gromarthen?’

‘That’s his son. By all accounts a capable officer, just like his father.’

Ghyll nodded slowly. ‘Where can I find General Davall?’

‘The general is now the commander of the 6th Corps. He has his headquarters in Leudra City. You will have to go a bit further south, though, because the 6th is on maneuver. Their camp is located deep in the forest. To get there, you’ll need an escort; Davall’s headquarters will assist you.’ The major stood up and looked straight at Ghyll. ‘Your role is not yet clear to me either, Baron. You appear out of nowhere–oh yes, I know all about your flight from Tinnurad and your alleged relationship to the late Marshal Halwyrd–but who you really are, remains in shadows. You fight with mysterious monsters nobody saw before. You visit the regent, a man who rarely opens his door even for the highest ranks in the kingdom. Moments later, you walk out again with a title that has you outranking almost everyone in court and army. Am I supposed to find that normal? Frankly, I find it very strange.’

Ghyll grinned. ‘I work for Rhidauna, Major. Only for Rhidauna.’

‘If I thought otherwise, Baron, I would have had you locked up first and asked questions afterwards.’ Tibaun turned to the door. ‘Still, I wish you success. I, too, would be happy with the truth.’ He hesitated. ‘I heard of that knife attack in Theridaun. Do you have an idea who did it?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Ghyll said. ‘That was a sorcerer called Vasthul.’ Without further ado, he told Tibaun about the little man with the birdlike scar on his face, and all the times he had tried to kill Ghyll.

‘A small man with a striking appearance like that can’t go unnoticed,’ Tibaun said. He bowed. ‘Thank you for your openness, Baron. I will notify all the heralds and the Guard headquarters in Rhidaun-Lorn. Once we have him, you will hear from me.’

Tibaun left and Ghyll limped back to the dining room. ‘The major’s gone.’ He gave a summary of what they had discussed. ‘Our spymaster is distrustful. He finds Torril and me extremely suspicious.’

‘I?’ Torril cried. ‘I’m not suspicious! I’m Torril Nikkelsen, Prince of the Nhael.’

‘I couldn’t very well tell him that. For the good major you are still an enemy of our country.’

Torril paled and Ghyll continued quickly. ‘Just kidding. Once we have solved the murders, anyone may know who we are, but until then I keep my kingship a secret–and you too, friend.’

‘Have you told that major about Vasthul?’ Olle asked.

‘Yes. He’ll have the heralds look out for him. That will give me time to go after those so-called accidents that befell my family.’

‘I hope it is enough,’ Torril said darkly. ‘Vasthul is a rat and they don’t give up easily.’

In his heart, Ghyll knew the young Nhael was right about Vasthul–the sorcerer wouldn’t let himself be caught easily. He stood up and rubbed his lower back. ‘My leg needs some