Remnant of Power

Chapter Twenty-two

"Raise an army?" Mal was horrified by what Giryan had told them about Ulric's persecution, but there was nothing he could do. "There's no way I can raise an army. I'm going to find Yoldas, set him free, and then we'll go home."

Mal was staring so hard at Giryan as he ran he didn't see where he was going. He tripped over the kerb. He stood up straight and looked at the Ithrim. All three of them were staring at him. He swallowed. There was no point in arguing with them. He just needed to get to the prison. Once he'd freed Gared and found Yoldas he'd just go home. They couldn't force him to go with them.

"Shall we go to the prison, then?" Mal spoke to Ragnar.

The wolf bounded to his side. "There are guards patrolling the streets around it now. The Ithrim will shoot them with arrows first. There are four sets of doors; the prison is split into four sections. We'll split into two groups and take the two sections facing away from the castle first. Any guards we see running off towards the castle, kill them. Tell the prisoners to head for the city gates as fast as they can. Those guards are dead; the Ithrim killed them. We won't have long before the castle guards and the soldiers in the barracks hear what's happening. If the soldiers hear us before we've finished we'll just have to run."

Mal jogged across the city, the three Ithrim in front of him spread out, hugging the edges of the streets. Torun ran at his side, and the three other wolves were close behind, still in dog form.

He ran faster to catch up the Ithrim called Giryan, staring at the cloak he wore as it swirled around his legs. It was a strange color. It looked dark gray, but then every so often it almost seemed to disappear. "Where are you from?" he asked the Ithrim quietly.

"Ha," the sound from Giryan's lips was harsh, and his expression angry. "Where are we from? That's a good question. When Esa created Ithrim, we lived all over Aeldenarth." His gaze was hostile. "Over the last few hundred years humans from all countries have tried to get rid of us, they fear us and are jealous of our abilities. Some countries have openly declared us outlaws, like your uncle did to the Talahund." His eyes narrowed. "Ulric has not declared us outlaws, but instead every town and city's charter has been changed since he made himself King, to read that only humans are allowed to live within their walls. As far as I know, all the Ithrim of Arvad now live within the shelter of the Nithandoran forest. And now he's destroying that." His stare was sharp as he turned his head. "We've been waiting years for your coming of age. Ithrim, Talahund, slaves, thousands of us are waiting for freedom. You are the only one who can rightfully defeat him." He turned his face to look ahead again.

Mal felt a dull ache in his stomach. What could he do? He knew nothing of fighting or war craft. If they were all putting their hope in him, they would be sorely disappointed.

Suddenly the wide flat shape of the prison loomed ahead. A shudder ran through Mal. If they messed this up, he'd be in there for years. His next thought made his insides feel cold and hollow. But if he was so important, Ulric would probably just kill him, to remove the threat.

"Mal!" Ragnar had stopped against the wall of a large townhouse. "When we've killed the guards, go in to the prisoners and quickly tell them who we are and what we're doing. We'll look for Yoldas."

Mal nodded. He looked ahead to see the three Ithrim slinking up to the prison, barely visible in their long cloaks. Around him the four Talahund shimmered into their wolf shapes. He heard a scrape of metal, then drew his own sword. The guards, joking in the doorway, suddenly croaked as the Ithrim sliced their throats. Mal rushed forward, pushed past the bodies and shoved against the inner doors. They were locked with padlocks. Channa was already searching the guards' bodies for the keys.

"Here," she handed them to him, then the Ithrim ran off. Torun stayed with Mal. Mal fiddled with the lock, his hands fumbling as he thought about whether he was about to find Yoldas. Opening the padlock, he stared in the through the door made of iron bars. A man in his early thirties tried to stand up. Mal saw him shaking the man next to him who was shackled to him.

"Get up, get up, Reban. Shit, man, they've killed the guards. Hey, are you going to let us out, man. Come on."

Mal scanned the inside of the gaol, desperately looking for Yoldas. There was no sign of him. But then he saw Gared, suddenly standing up. He looked at the auburn-haired man who'd just spoken.

"Tell the other prisoners we've come to set you free. But you must be quiet. We're looking for someone, and we need to make sure the soldiers in the barracks don't find out we've set you free. Just go straight to the gates and get out of the city. Try to find a weapon." Kelten leapt to his side in wolf form. "And the wolves are with us, they've come to help - they won't hurt you, they'll only hurt the guards."

The man stared at him. "Who are you, why are you setting us free?"

Giryan appeared behind Mal. "He is Ulric's nephew. We hid him when he was a baby to keep him safe. Now he is going to take the throne instead of the tyrant. We are raising an army." He scanned the faces of the men. "Our people and the wolves have been hunted and killed for seventeen years. Humans are enslaved all across Arvad. It's time to stand against him."

Gared walked up to the auburn-haired man and stood behind him. Mal looked across at his friend and realized that Gared had been staring at him. His face had a strange, tight appearance. If he didn't know Gared so well, he might have though he saw a jealous expression flickering in his friend's eyes. But what was there to be jealous of? There was really no way Mal was related to the King.

"Go on then, man, get us out." Mal walked into the jail with the keys. He bent down and tried a key in the man's shackle lock. It opened straightaway. The man ran out into the hallway. "Hey, there are some swords here. A few of us can take them." The man he'd been shackled to ran out and grabbed one. Three of the younger men did the same. Aware that Gared was still staring at him, he bent down and tried his friend's lock. The same key unlocked it.

Mal handed Gared his dagger.

"Don't you need it?"

Mal shook his head. He held up the sword he'd dug up. "The wolves told me this was my father's. I don't want it, but it might be useful for a while." Within a few minutes Mal had unlocked all the men in the jail. He grabbed Gared and took him to one side.

"Look, I don't believe what the wolves are telling me. There's no way I'm the King's nephew. And it's the last thing I want, anyway. But I'm just going along with it for now. Once we've got Yoldas I'll just leave them to it – you know, go back to Carthaven and get on with normal life."

Gared snorted and frowned at Mal. "Come with me..." He grabbed him by the arm. Mal went along with him. Gared led him out of the prison and around the side of the door.

He turned to face Mal, scowling angrily, "So you don't think it's true. Do you not think it's so incredible that it's got to be? I can't believe you think you can say you don't want to be King, and that's the end of it! Do you think you've even got a choice? Can't you see how evil Ulric is and the harm he's doing? These wolves, and those Ithrim, or whatever they're called," he swept his arm towards the prison, "are looking to you to be King, instead of Ulric, and you just say, "sorry I don't want to be King"!" Gared puffed out a breath. "I'd like to even have the choice!" He stomped off for a few paces, then came back to Mal, speaking in a much quieter voice this time. "You've never known hardship, Mal, you've always had enough of everything. You might not get on with your father but you've got a good living ahead of you, working with him. Look at me, yes, I've got an apprenticeship, but what happens at the end of it? You've never known what it was to wonder if there'll be enough dinner for your whole family, or to watch your mother put out food for the children but none for herself. I wish it was me who had to be King. There's no way I'd turn down living in a castle with plenty of food for my family and a queue of pretty girls wanting to marry me." He spun around and strode down the side of the jail, kicking furiously at a stone.

Mal watched him for a minute, his fingers rubbing the emeralds on the sword's pommel. Then he drew his shoulders up a bit and ran after him.

"Alright. I'll do it. I will be King," he said, not meeting Gared's eyes. "I'll go and tell them."