Elsewhere ti-3 Read online

  Elsewhere

  ( Temple Islands - 3 )

  Richard D. Parker

  The country of Massi is free! King Arsinol is dead; the Deutzani have been driven from the lands and Gwaynn Massi is going to be a father. Samantha Fultan is pregnant with his child and for one brief, glorious moment all is well throughout the land, but the drums of war will not be silenced. Caiman Mastoc, High King and husband to Audra, Princess of Deutzani, is furious and will stop at nothing to see the Massi and their Toranado allies fall. The vaunted Temple Knights are coming to Massi and bringing with them the armies of the Palmerrio, the Rhondono and the Deutzani. To protect his land, his people, and his unborn child, Gwaynn must face and defeat them all. But Gwaynn’s greatest danger does not lurk within the armies of his enemies. His greatest danger hides in the guise of a beautiful and seductive woman; a woman who loves him; a woman who needs him; a woman who will kill if she cannot have him, the treacherous and deadly Executioner Tarina Cyn de Baard.

  Elsewhere

  Temple Islands [3]

  Richard D. Parker

  (2012)

  The Temple Islands Series

  Book One: The Black Horseman

  Book Two: Assassin of the Heart

  Book Three: Elsewhere

  Book Four: The Best of all Possible Worlds

  For my daughter Alex, who’s still a teenager

  and therefore doesn’t give a crap about dedications.

  Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Parker

  All right reserved

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

  I

  “She’s a traitor Nacht!” the High King bellowed through one of the two silvery Speaker bubbles that floated in midair near the center of the room. “That pretty little Executioner of yours has gone and changed sides. She’s fighting with the Massi now!”

  Tar Nacht, High Executioner of Sinis Island blanched, though luckily no one was in the room to witness his loss of composure. Of course the Speaker Waters was only a few feet away, but his eyes were closed and his brow furrowed in concentration. Beads of sweat stood out on his high balding forehead as the little man struggled to keep two Speaker connections open simultaneously.

  Nacht knew creating multiple connections was very difficult and rarely done. According to Waters there were only a few Speakers powerful enough to perform such a feat and those who could, would soon constitute the pinnacle of the Isle of Light’s power. Waters and the rest of the Family’s personal Speakers should count themselves lucky to have escaped the High King’s wrath. They were only spared because they did not have the power to Travel and thus were not a true threat.

  “Never!” Nacht spouted in reflex, without thinking. No Executioner in the last three hundred years had turned their back on Sinis. Of course in the distant past such betrayal was not unheard of, but that was long ago, before the old Tars developed the training necessary to forge ultimate commitments. There must be a mistake. de Baard would never join the Massi. It didn’t seem possible.

  “It’s a mistake,” Nacht protested. “She must be trying to embed herself deeply in with the Massi before the kill,” he explained. It was a favored tactic used by older, more experienced Tars. True, it was rare for one as young as de Baard to play such a sophisticated role, but it must be so, for betrayal was unthinkable.

  “She’s gone over. She’s Massi now,” the High King insisted, his anger coming through clearly despite the distance his voice was traveling.

  Nacht shook his head, though again there was no one to see. “It must be a tactic. Killing a man surrounded by an army is no easy task.” he argued.

  “She killed my father!” Another voice sounded out of the void.

  Nacht frowned. “Whose father?” He demanded.

  “She killed Arsinol,” Mastoc clarified impatiently.

  “Arsinol…” Nacht mumbled, confused. Even he had to admit killing one of the clients, and a King no less, would be taking the embedding practice to extremes.

  “Tar Nacht,” said another voice, more respectful. “This is Ja Brude. I was there when she killed the King. It’s no mistake.”

  Everyone was quiet for a moment.

  “You have a new target,” Nacht heard the High King say. “de Baard must die as well as the Massi Prince and they must die quickly. Eno is about to fall and I don’t want them in the way when we make our final move on Massi.”

  “Massi is mine!”

  “Arden,” the High King spoke again. “We’ll discuss that at your upcoming coronation. Be on the King’s Island in seven days and I will crown you King of the Deutzani. You must hurry.” Mastoc would indeed crown Arden the Deutzani King. The rumors coming out of that country were disturbing. The two younger Deutzani Princes, Avaal and Antioc, were already gathering men and arms. They would challenge Arden if they had the opportunity. If Arden was not crowned soon, the country could break down into civil war and then Audra would be very displeased. Mastoc found he liked it very much when his young wife was happy and compliant. One thing was sure however, Mastoc was not about to sail to Malche, not with the Toranado in control of the sea and once again the High King cursed his own lack of control for destroying the Travelers.

  Nacht sat silent, shocked by the news, still unable to believe. de Baard a traitor! It was not possible. She must be embedding. Arsinol, the fool, must have challenged her during the battle, or wandered too close while she was in the grip of bloodlust. Hell, any fool knew not to grab a mad dog by the tail.

  “Nacht…she must die!” The High King insisted.

  Nacht grimaced but quickly accepted the inevitable. Yes, there was nothing he could do about it now. de Baard must die, even though she was now in the perfect position to kill the Massi Prince. Nacht only hoped she would accomplish her task before she came face to face with the Black horseman.

  “Very well, she will die,” he finally agreed.

  “Do it quickly Nacht!” The High King commanded and when the bubbles were completely dissolved Waters opened his eyes and looked to his master.

  “Summon Tar Lacombe,” was all Nacht said. The Speaker nodded and left the room.

  Twenty minutes later Lacombe entered.

  “You are Massi are you not?” Nacht asked.

  Lacombe nodded suspiciously. “Born in Solarii.”

  Nacht smiled. “Good. I have a target for you.”

  ǂ

  Admiral Cantu woke early, well before sunrise, on the day the siege of Eno entered its sixth week. Over that time there’d been little change, the massive inner keep still remained in Toranado hands but most of the city proper was now razed to the ground. The invaders, however, left enough buildings intact for their highest-ranking officers to sleep indoors on soft beds and have an occasional bath, just a touch of civilization while the business of death and destruction was carried to its final conclusion.

  Over the weeks, the siege turned into a waiting game as the Palmerrio attempted to dig beneath the keep. For over a month now they dug and chipped their way through the hard, rocky ground in the hopes of creating a weak spot beneath the mighty fortress that would undermine and topple the massive stone walls. Tunneling was a long, time-consuming endeavor; however, in certain cases it could also be a highly effective tactic. The Palmerrio’s progress was predictably slow since the ground beneath the capital city was nearly solid rock; the enormous stone keep could not have been built on a less stable foundation. Up until now the Toranado viewed the tunneling as a fool’s errand. Most believed the ground beneath the city to be solid bedrock, hard enough to keep the Palmerrio diggin
g for years, Cantu included. But they were all wrong. Late last night Queen Ramona reported that the digging was clearly audible through the walls of the keep at its very lowest levels. The tunneling was proceeding much faster than any believed possible. Cantu was worried, worried for his country, worried for his Queen, and worried for his lover, who also happened to be the reigning monarch.

  But his greatest worry was not for the safety of Queen Ramona. He was confident she could escape well before the inner keep actually fell; after all she had the Traveler na Gall with her. Plus if that option somehow failed, she had over half the Toranado fleet guarding the harbor of her fair city, ready to whisk her to safety if need be. No, his greatest worry was that Eno would not hold out long enough for their allies, the Massi, to assemble an army large enough to challenge their enemies. It was a daunting task for the young Prince Gwaynn no matter what his skills and popularity. No, Eno must hold the Palmerrio captive for many more months if the young Massi Prince was to have any chance…unless somehow, the Cassinni could be swayed to join the fray against the High King…but for now Gwaynn was their only hope.

  Cantu realized however, that it was undoubtedly a vain hope. Even if they somehow managed to gain years for the Massi, their enemies were strong and many, and included the vaunted Temple Knights of the High King. Over the past thousand years, no country, no army, no force in all the Inland Sea had prevailed against the well-trained cavalry knights from the King’s Island. Even with the ten thousand Toranado soldiers already in Massi aiding Prince Gwaynn, Cantu felt they were just delaying the inevitable. Foot soldiers were just so much fodder against a powerful force of cavalry. Unless…unless somehow the Tars of Noble could be persuaded to join the fight against the High King.

  Cantu frowned and struck his fist lightly against the wooden bulkhead. They had far too many potential allies sitting on the sidelines for his tastes. Something must be done about that, but he was no diplomat able to convince nations and men to join the cause. Yes, a master diplomat is what they needed if the Tars were going to be convinced to move against the High King.

  It was a slim hope, but not completely a fool’s hope, after all, Prince Gwaynn studied on the island of the Tars, studied with the greatest Tar of them all. In a way he was one of their own. Perhaps in the end, the Tars could be persuaded to fight for justice once more.

  The Admiral climbed the ladder from his cabin up to the main deck and out into the early morning darkness, while thoughts and possibilities darted about his brain. They banged and buzzed against his skull like a fly on a windowpane. And like the fly, Cantu feared they were already caught, for even though the window offered the promise of paradise beyond, it was all a cruel illusion and there was truly no escape. Cantu shook his head, trying to dispel these negative thoughts as he finally reached the main deck. It was not good for morale to wander the ship like a sour puss.

  “Sir,” Ensign Billings said, snapping to attention while stifling a yawn. As the youngest officer on the flagship, Billings was forced to endure the black shift, through the deepest, darkest part of the night, but he prided himself on never resting while at his post. Tonight was no different, but such diligence to duty did not temper his relief when his shift finally came to an end and he could go below and crawl into his hammock.

  “All quiet?” Cantu asked, taking a steaming cup of tea from the steward. Billings nodded.

  “All quiet…sir,” he replied.

  “Very well,” Cantu said briskly, “I have the deck.” The young lieutenant nodded but remained up top for a few minutes more watching with his Admiral as the sky slowly lightened until finally the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon. The morning was beautiful; the sky was clear, not a single blemish marred the dark blue canvas. But low on the northern horizon, the early light also revealed a multitude of sails. A large fleet of ships was rounding the western point of the Bay of Eno. They were coming fast, pulling all oars. The sheer numbers approaching ruled out the possibility that they were Toranado ships. It also did not bode well that they were arriving from the northwest. The rest of the Toranado fleet was positioned at Cape and to the east.

  Cantu stared at the approaching ships in disbelief for a moment, but then calmly turned to Ensign Billings.

  “Sound the horn,” the Admiral ordered quietly, staring transfixed as more and more ships rounded the point and came into view. “Raise anchors and get us underway. All oars.”

  Moments after the horn sounded the ship was alive with activity. The Admiral’s crew was well trained, the best, and he gave their preparation little attention. Warning horns sounded from other nearby Toranado ships but Cantu ignored them as well; his eyes and mind were completely riveted on the threat racing toward them. In the distance, ship after ship continued to round the point. Cantu held his breath, waiting for the last of them.

  ‘The High King is coming for us,’ he thought, eyes raking the flags flying over the enemy warships as they advanced ever nearer. At first, in the dim light of the early morning, he could make out no colors, but then he recognized the signal flags of the Palmerrio, then those of the High King and finally to his dismay, the flags of the Rhondono. The only positive was that fact that the powerful Cassinni fleet remained blatantly absent. But looking out at the vast armada sailing into Eno harbor, he was little comforted by the fact that the High King did not have the support of all the great families in his war against the Toranado. The fleet now sailing against them was daunting enough. It was also surprising that as yet no Deutzani ships were sighted in the approaching armada. But as the sun completely cleared the hills to the east, he spotted a separate group of warships on the opposite side of the bay, guarding the eastern channel…the Deutzani.

  Cantu frowned. ‘At least we will not have to fight the fleets of all the Families of the Inland Sea,’ he thought wryly, and silently blessed the Cassinni.

  Once the anchors were aboard and they were making head way, Cantu turned and spotted Captain Denard standing just behind him, fastening the last button on his overcoat.

  “Captain,” the Admiral said, “ten degrees starboard. Signal the fleet. Let’s aim for the far channel. We’ll smash our way through the Deutzani if necessary.”

  As the ships slowly turned, Cantu and Denard moved forward to assess the strength of the enemy.

  “We’re outnumbered,” Denard said, a bit surprised even though they were missing nearly a quarter of their own fleet, which was off guarding the harbor at Cape and the flanks of the Toranado army in Massi.

  ‘The High King must have promised the Rhondono bastards the world,’ Denard thought as the combined enemy fleet grew closer. He was not overly concerned. The Toranado navy was the supreme power on the Inland Sea and even at their reduced strength the Captain felt they were more than a match for any other force on the water.

  “Yes,” Cantu agreed, “but we’re not outnumbered in heavy warships just galleys. The High King may only be here to drive us away from Eno…we shall see in a moment.”

  Signal flags were raised, communicating the Admiral’s intention instantly to the entire fleet and with practiced precision, the mass of oar bearing ships turned as one. They only made a hundred yards however, before the fleets of the High King and the Palmerrio turned in pursuit.

  “So much for just driving us from the bay,” Denard said with a touch of anticipation in his voice. The Captain was not accustomed to running from enemy ships, nor did he want to become comfortable with such actions. If the enemy was turning to fight, so much the better, Denard had complete confidence in his ship, his fleet and his Admiral. In his mind, no one could touch Cantu for tactics at sea.

  “Continue on the present course,” the Admiral said calmly, “half oars…rest half.”

  Denard bark a repeating order and the fleet moved easily out into the bay and toward the coming battle.

  Cantu moved the fleet slowly to the northeast and calmly watched as the enemy fleet pulled all oars in pursuit. As Captain Denard observed, they were outnum
bered, but the enemy was short in heavy triremes by about a dozen. Most of the ships in pursuit were of the galley class; light, maneuverable and quick in the water, but lacking the ramming punch of the larger triremes. Although galleys, in sufficient numbers, could be a danger, Cantu knew that it would take three to four galleys to even have a prayer of sinking a heavy trireme. Nagging at him was the fact that the leaders of the enemy fleet would also be aware of this, but still they came on. Aggressive they were…too aggressive.

  Captain Denard fidgeted slightly at the Admiral’s side as they moved out of the safety of the inner harbor and the wind at the point struck them. Both men raised their faces into the wind, smelling the air, tasting the weather, and pervading everything was the smell of the sea, salty and slightly fishy, but even so they gloried in it. “This is it,” the Captain finally said, “the largest sea battle of our time.” And Cantu could hear the eagerness in the young man’s voice.

  The Admiral glanced over at his second in command and hoped the eagerness was warranted. He considered tempering the young man’s excitement but then thought better of it. Hell, he was excited too…and confident. The Toranado were the masters of the sea, and for good reason. His fleet, his men, and his ships were simply the best, and like the Temple Knights they dominated their chosen arena for centuries.

  “Stay on course,” the Admiral said ten minutes later as Captain Denard looked to him expectantly. The enemy fleet was now within a quarter of a mile, still pulling hard. The Captain glanced at his Admiral then at the enemy fleet, and then back once more.

  “A few more minutes.” Cantu replied calmly, his thick legs spread against the rocking of the ship. “They will be tired when we turn into them. They seem in a hurry to die.”

  Three minutes later the Admiral gave the order to turn into the enemy.

  “All oars!” Denard shouted, and their pace picked up dramatically. Cantu stood near wheel, confident now. The enemy ships were still racing toward them, and he doubted that many of their oarsmen would have much strength left to maneuver, even if they managed to survive the first pass. The enemy commander was a fool…and reckless.