The City

The City

  The Prophecy #8

  By John Stevenson

  Copyright 2010 John Stevenson

  Nicholas’s father had a saying he used whenever the boys were inattentive at work. “If one thing goes bad, then everything goes bad.” He at the time was referring to missing one piece of fruit that could spoil the whole bag. That was how it seemed now: he was that piece of fruit and his world had gone bad. It was inconceivable to understand that in what felt like just several days, how completely his life had fallen apart. Once he had been blessed: a wonderful family; a career and inheritance: he had a whole glowing future before him, and no no-matter what his parents may have said he knew that one day he would have married; had children and passed on to them the treasured gifts he had been given.

  He had lost everything and had been consumed with vengeance, and for a while the one thing that had kept him going was revenge, but Reigel had been right it left an empty feeling. An emptiness that had began to be filled with love and possibly a reason to live on. It seemed incomprehensible that the grief of losing his family paled behind losing a woman he barely knew, but now there truly was nothing.

  As Nicholas made his way back to the tavern, his mind was too preoccupied to fully think on what lay ahead. His plan; if retrieving his knife, stealing Mathew’s horse and riding for Quone could be termed anything planned; was crushed by his growing depression.

  He was too distraught to think in detail. Part of him knew that was in some ways preferable: times before when he had considered what to do, it had been obvious in how many ways he could fail. Now he couldn’t let himself believe for a second that anything could go wrong. There was only one thing that was moving him forward; his promise to Harriet, and that he may be able to do something, save someone or just be besides Simeon when it all came to an end. That depended if luck was on his side: though it had been elusive in the past. Beyond that he didn’t care: he no longer had any personal future. Pushing the thoughts aside he entered the back of the tavern trying not to be seen.

  He went to the room and opened the door. The scene was as he had left it, and the awful reality of what had happened overwhelmed him again, almost breaking his resolve. He tried to focus his thoughts and saw the knife he had left in his haste. It was still embedded in the lifeless body of Mathew. Above anything else it was almost all that remained of what once had been his life.

  Forcing distaste aside he gripped the handle and pulled. Revulsion surged in him as the blade refused to give. He tugged harder and at last it came out, removing with it a soggy clump of flesh and congealed blood. Fighting back the nausea he put water into the washbowl and cleaned the blade; then placed it into his waistband.

  The knife reminded him of the ring, with all that had happened it had slipped his mind. It was because of what the ring signified that he had been forced to endure what he had. His mind was in turmoil; he both reviled it for what it caused and treasured it for what it reminded him of, but to his mother this had been a precious thing. Why she had it; and for what reason she had secreted it away mystified him, but nonetheless she had.

  He was ready to leave the place and its sad memories, when he noticed that Mathew’s blood had not spread as far over the uniform as would be expected. The yellow sash of an officer had a stain on the front towards the shoulder, but in a place where it could be hidden by a buckled cloak to everything but close inspection. Slowly another plan came to mind; it had been tried before and worked; well mostly: so again he stripped the uniform from a dead body. Once more he would become one of the guard, but this time a promotion in rank.

  As Nicholas suspected Mathew was not residing in the taverns accommodation as his mount was tied to the corral fence, and ready to ride. Immediately he recognized it as the horse he had first encountered at the foot of Blood Mountain. A wave of regret swept over him. If only he had come this way with Harriet, and seen it, then maybe it would have… It looked at him in confused recognition, only snorting as he untied the harness. It eyed him cautiously but let him reach up to the saddle.

  Nicholas patted its neck and whispered in its ear. “Can you run? Can you run like the wind?” He lifted his foot to the stirrup and tried to pull himself up. The horse shied away a little, so he waited, slowly stroking the animal’s shoulder and talking softly. He tried again and it let him mount. He leaned forward towards its flicking ear. “If you can run now is the time; your master at least owes me that.” As if in reply the great horse reared up on its hind legs for a moment taking him by surprise, and nearly throwing him to the ground, but he held on and molded himself to the saddle. With a spring they were away, and heading out of the town at full gallop.

  They had gone less than a thousand paces past the last inhabited buildings, when across the road he saw a gate between the high hedgerows. Although he wore the uniform of a captain he was in no mood for pretense, but neither there was way around. Nicholas cast his eye for whoever was manning the roadblock, and waiting chance for their challenge.

  With no other command, there was no hesitation from the horse, and Nicholas felt the muscles in its flanks bunch up and tighten as the animal prepared for what it believed was to be asked of it. The horse unleashed a burst of speed that swept Nicholas past what he felt was their point of no return, and gripping tightly to the saddle he readied himself to be dismounted.

  They bore down on the barrier; now close enough to be able to see the expressions on the emerging guard’s faces. There were three, and all dived for cover as Nicholas felt the power ripple through the tensed muscles into the animals hindquarters. With a tremendous push the hind legs kicked off the ground and horse and man soared into the air.

  Nicholas’s doubt had still not left him as the animal’s front hoofs came up and tucked tightly under its chest. Never had he ridden a beast such as this. Yes he had pushed it, but half expecting the animal to baulk; but the horse did neither hesitate, nor deviate. The guards had disappeared beneath the hedges as the horse cleared the timber with ease.

  As they hit the ground at the other side the beast faltered slightly as its legs absorbed the impact. It sank low; struggling to for a moment to lift and regain its momentum: not helped by Nicholas’s crashing back down heavily onto the hard leather saddle. Winded by the impact Nicholas was still being tossed from one side to the other as the animal recovered, leapt up and broke into a full gallop as if this was something it had often done. Nicholas yelped out loud, leaning forward slapping the side of the horse’s neck in encouragement. “To Quone black prince; to Quone and my destiny… Whatever that may be?”

  As he rode, Nicholas mulled over the events just passed, partly to understand, but mainly to keep his thoughts from Harriet.

  Some things Mathew had spoken puzzled him; what was off world? And he had spoken of flying. The words confused Nick: birds flew; man could not. Could fly mean flight, quick, rapidly; probably it did, but what was the point not just saying such. The alternative was to take their time. It seemed a pointless waste of words. He had said unleash a terrible power. Nicholas had seen terrible power that night in the woods when Mark had died so needlessly. That man he saw briefly in the sky had flown; yet there seemed no logical explanation. But if that were the intention, and such a devise did exist then to place such a strange thing close by Lakesend would attract too much attention. If; and he was far from convinced, there was any such device, it would be well outside of town; but where? Maybe he didn't need to ask; the animal below him didn’t seem to have ridden far, and certainly needed no encouragement to take the road they now traveled. The horse would take him if he trusted it; at least he hoped it would.

  It was vital that Simeon was warned that their plans were known. Already the city would be well into the celebrations. Many of the rebels would be at their assigned
locations, waiting until their signal was given. It was too late to contact them all, and the rebellion would begin with no chance to alter the plan. It would mean abandoning some to their own fates, and he doubted Simeon would do that. As Nicholas thought on, he knew that whatever the result, the rebellion would run its course; the only option once started would be to slow the guard’s response. How that could be done seemed beyond grasp.

  A few minutes later Prince began to slow, and as he turned a bend a rider came out from the shadow of a tree. The rider called. “Good captain. Wait... Wait.”

  Nicholas reigned in the animal and allowed the man to canter up behind him. “I am not entirely sure your fellow guard will understand my special position