Trik - Betrayal in Rule

Trik and Durben approached the city from the north, taking the Imperial Road to the main gate. There a crowd had gathered, some on horseback and others on foot. A group of guards wearing red cloaks blocked their entrance to the city. Trik and Durben, in their disguises, marched past the crowd and halted before a group of guards at the main gate.

“You two,” said a tall guard, pointing at them, “what are you doing away from your posts?”

Trik approached the guard, and Durben followed at his side. “Captain,” said Trik, “we were ordered to search for the escaped prisoners.”

“I never gave any orders to leave the city,” said the captain, his dark eyes studying Trik’s face under his silver helmet.

Trik cleared his throat. “The orders are from the Duke himself,” he said.

Durben glanced at Trik, his eyes wide. Trik reached under his cloak and withdrew the scroll that Nob had given them. He handed it to the captain.

The captain unrolled the scroll and glanced over the text on the lambskin parchment. “Says here,” said the captain, “you were to search every traveler from Rule to the mountains.”

Trik nodded. “And so we have,” he said.

The captain glanced over Trik’s shoulder. “I see no captives,” he said.

“There were none to take,” said Trik. “If the prisoners went then this way, they are already in the mountains.”

The captain studied Durben’s disguised face, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t recognize you,” he said. “Are you with the brigade?”

“We serve directly under the Duke,” said Trik.

“Is that right?” said the captain.

“Do we have your leave to return to our posts in the city, Captain?” asked Trik.

The captain faced Trik and his eyes narrowed on the elf’s eyes. For a moment he said nothing. Then he handed the scroll back to Trik, and turned aside. “Return to your posts immediately,” he said.

Trik glanced at Durben, and Durben nodded. They started toward the main gate. The red-cloaked guards cleared a path to the gate. Trik and Durben marched under the portcullis and into the city.

Even though it was a weekday, the city streets of Rule were empty. Few people were outside, and those who were, clung to the shadows. On the corner of every street, two of Mortimer’s soldiers were posted, each armed with a spear. “Mortimer must’ve put the entire city under martial law,” whispered Trik. “I’ve never seen the streets so empty.”

“How could Mortimer give such orders?’ asked Durben. “The Emperor would never allow it.”

“It is not the Emperor,” said Trik, “who rules here.”

One of the soldiers whistled at them as they walked past him. Trik and Durben halted on the road. The soldier walked up to them. “Where are you going?” he asked.

Trik faced him. “We are returning to our posts,” he said.

“Under whose orders?” asked the soldier.

“The Duke’s,” said Trik. “We are to report to the palace immediately.”

“I shall speak with my commander,” said the soldier.

Trik’s expression became fierce. “Sergeant,” he said, “I am a captain of the guard. I will not tolerate insubordination.”

The soldier’s mouth snapped shut, and he jumped to attention. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Carry on, Sergeant,” said Trik.

The soldier saluted him, and then he stepped back and returned to his post on the corner of the street.

Durben laughed softly.

Trik and Durben continued along the street, passing under many tall stone buildings, until at last the golden spires of the palace towered in the distance. The seven white towers loomed high over the gray stone buildings of the city. At the top of each tower was a spire, and waving above each spire was a flag that displayed the Imperial Emblem, a golden crown against an eclipsed sun. Below the palace stood a group of ten soldiers wearing red cloaks. Each soldier carried a sword and a shield, and each wore a helmet with a red feather rising from the top of the helmet.

“The Imperial Guards have been removed from the palace gate,” said Trik, “and replaced with Mortimer’s soldiers.”

“Shall we turn back?” asked Durben.

“No,” said Trik.

They approached the ten guards at the main gate of the palace. Of the ten guards, one of them stepped forward to speak, a tall lieutenant with a broadsword. “Halt,” said the lieutenant, “that’s far enough.”

Trik and Durben halted before the gate. “We are in a hurry,” said Trik. “We have urgent news to deliver to the Duke.”

“Come here,” said the lieutenant, pointing at Trik.

Trik stepped forward and halted before the lieutenant. “We must be on our way without delay,” said Trik. “We have urgent news for the Duke.”

“What is this news?” asked the lieutenant.

Trik took a step back. “It is for the Duke’s ears alone,” he said.

“I am the Duke’s ears,” said the lieutenant. “Whatever you wish to tell him you must report to me.”

“What is your rank and number?” asked Trik.

“Excuse me,” said the lieutenant.

“Your rank and number,” said Trik, “so that when the Duke asks why I am late, I can report the cause.”

The lieutenant stiffened. Sweat glistened on his brow. He glanced at the other soldiers standing before the gate. “Let them pass,” he said, waving at the guards. The soldiers stepped away from the gate.

Trik nodded at the lieutenant. He walked back to Durben, and together they passed through the gate and into the palace courtyard.

As they approached the doors to the palace, Durben whispered to Trik, “I thought we were done for.”

“Never doubt a soldier’s fear of his commander,” said Trik.