The Plan

Kiran procures the Duke's reluctant permission to go on an undercover search-and-rescue mission with his friend Nont'im.

            A flash of lightning cut through the sky outside the dingy window. A loud clap of thunder jolted the constable from the reverie in which he’d been immersed.

 “Kiran?”

The paladin startled a second time. Nont’im was waving his narrow, plump hand in front of his face as though it were a confused bat. When the half-elf, half-hobbit’s hand narrowly missed connecting with his chin, Kiran’s much larger hand guided the cleric’s down towards the table.  It was then he noticed the anxiety in his friend’s face. “What’s the matter?” he asked, sliding his hand to Nont’im’s wrist in comfort and tilting his head.

Nont’im stared at him. The contrast in color between his eyes, one azure and one emerald, was even more striking than usual. “You don’t remember what you were doing just a minute ago?” He flapped his left hand around the room. It was then that the paladin became aware of everybody else’s eyes. Many of the other patrons of the Bright Light Inn were glancing his way, whispering something to their neighbors who looked at him in turn, and then looking his way again. The stares from some bore into his very soul. He thought he could hear a few of them referring to him by his job title and words such as “lunacy” and “off his rocker.” That was just what he needed in conjunction with his name being permanently marred in at least one country and the disappearance of the two young halflings, Kiran thought, gossip spreading throughout Northchester City that he, the Constable of the City Watch, was losing his marbles.

Swallowing hard, he returned his attention to Nont’im, who’d apparently forgotten about whatever he was trying to say in favor of a buxom woman in her mid-to-late twenties. Kiran smiled, shaking his head slightly and gently squeezing the slim wrist. “You’re incorrigible.” As his mind wandered back to what he remembered seeing, his face straightened. Lightning and thunder had accompanied both of his dreams. Just once was coincidental. More than once, however, could be taken as a sign that  “I just had the same bloody dream... or vision...… I am beginning to think I ought to go to the Duke… I have a very strong hunch about their whereabouts, assuming your guess at the meaning is correct. I only hope it is wrong.”

“Drémeadow?”  whispered Nont’im, his voice a slight squeak. His hands tensed into fists.

“Drémeadow,” confirmed Kiran grimly. Nont’im stared, pale-faced, and seized the edge of the table. . “As I said, I hope I’m wrong.” He did not want to imagine what might happen if their enemies got their hands on the young halfling prince. "

When he met with the Duke of Northchester to discuss the doings and discoveries of the City Watch in the week he had been back so far with the refugees under his wing, Kiran decided, he would bring up the dream once more. What was the worst His Grace would do, laugh skeptically and dismiss the dream as nothing more than that? Say that Kiran and Nont'im were delving far too deeply into it? If that were the case, he’d prefer the Duke to be right.

~*~*~

That evening, the paladin and the cleric parted ways, agreeing to meet back at Zane’s Pub after his business with the Duke was complete. Nont’im had then left for yet another tavern while the constable embarked upon his usual route to Duke Ivan’s holding.  On the way, he passed a small cluster of young hobbits who were among the Drémeadow refugees. They’d apparently gotten hold of a bottle of syrup. He moved closer, wondering what mischief might be afoot. Plenty was possible, given many of the adult refugees were in such a state of shock that they were permitting even the smaller children to run around virtually unsupervised. Many of the Duke’s staff, Kiran included, had consequently taken it upon themselves to make sure the small children and younger adolescents did not get themselves into trouble.  From what he heard, these twelve-to-fourteen-year-olds had gotten a mutual craving for the sweetener and scrounged up enough money on the ground to purchase it.  There was just one problem. “We don’t have bread!” one of the girls pointed out.

“That’s okay,” a ruddy-faced boy reassured her, “we could always just drink it right out of the bottle.” Kiran winced slightly. “Oi, look, it’s Kiran… hi Kiran!” The group turned to him with jovial grins and waves. Kiran returned the smile, incredulous. Halflings certainly seemed quick to move on from their worries and troubles!  “Want any syrup?”

Kiran shook his head. “No, thank you.” He rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a single silver piece. Holding it out, he said, “here. You’d better get some bread or oatmeal or something else that could go with that, I heard you could use it.” There was a chorus of thanks from the teens. The boy who’d suggested drinking directly from the bottle then frowned slightly and whispered something the paladin couldn’t make out to his friend. Their heads moved together, faces changing from enjoyment of the moment to concern.  More than once, gazes shifted in his direction. Leaning his head slightly closer, he thought he could make out the words “ask” and “prince.”

“If you mean to ask me about His Highness,” Kiran said, causing the entire cluster to look his way, “rest assured that Duke Ivan and I are doing everything we can think of to find him. Speaking of which, I am on my way to see His Grace now. There’s a bakery about a quarter mile that way with inexpensive bread.” He pointed southeast. With a chorus of farewells, he and the halflings parted ways.

Once he’d finally reached the holding of the Cancalian king’s brother,  Kiran was ushered through the entrance of the Duke’s main study to find the middle-aged noble pacing about the room, wringing his hands in front of him and intermittently running his right temple, worry lines deepening in his face.  He paused just past the entryway, watching his employer intently. Duke Ivan waved his hands over the velvet armchair rather more emphatically than usual. He took a seat upon the maroon chairsohat the Duke could get off his feet also, watching his lord quizzically. “Your Grace?” he asked tentatively. It was rare to see Ivan Benoit so worked up. The constable did not want to imagine what might be causing such visible anxiety.

The Duke settled upon the settee across from Kiran, leaning back into the cushions in an uncharacteristically relaxed manner. The light emanating from the candelabra in the center of the room threw the lines etched upon the noble’s face into sharp relief, highlighting the years of care faced by the younger brother of Cancalia’s king.  Kiran folded his hands, not wanting to press his boss at a moment the older man appeared particularly careworn. Though the Benoits were renowned for their patience and efficiency, they were as human as anyone else and thus susceptible to the throes of emotion. At times such as now, they needed those who truly cared for them to indulge their whims and emotions. Though he had not yet once spoken of it, Kiran could imagine the Duke felt the strain wrought by the presence of two hundred refugees. Nobody could blame him, either- there would be severe problems for Cancalia indeed if Drémeadow found out where its fugitives had been granted asylum. Furthermore, Queen Arlena might already know the tremendous risk her brother-in-law was taking, but the king himself had not yet found out, if his absence was anything to go by.

Remembering himself, Duke Ivan straightened up, the look of contemplation departing from his azure eyes. “My sister-in-law will be here in a fortnight,” he told Kiran, “so I will need you to have the Watch make preparations so she and my nephew and nieces might make it here without hindrance.”

Kiran tucked his chin into his chest. “Yes, Your Grace, I shall see it done,” he reassured the Duke. This was not the first time he had delegated the various tasks necessary to make a royal visit go smoothly with his employees. Truly, he thought, the imminent arrival of the Queen alone could not truly be the source of the Duke’s anxiety. No, it was bound to have something to do with the hobbits of Drémeadow, whether the missing prince, those currently in the attic recovering from their harrowing flight, their pursuers, or some combination of the three. “My people and I will ensure she gets here without trouble.”

A small smile lingered on his crinkled lips. “I know, Kiran,” Duke Ivan reassured the young paladin.  “I have no doubts about your abilities, I assure you.” Seeing the faint lines of anxiety etched into the twenty-something’s skin, he added in a low voice, “I am merely worried about the welfare of my brother. It is not like him to go so long without contacting his wife or myself, particularly when His Majesty learns he will arrive later than expected. Punctuality has always been something my brother valued, both in himself and others.”

Kiran nodded, his own disquiet intensifying. Had the king not already been an object of concern, he might have attributed his absence to Drémeadow.  From what he knew, King Irwin had last been seen by aristocrats in the upper echelon of the oligarchy Jadafoquerp in December. He’d been expected mid-December in Merelimbor but not showed up. The epistle had arrived in Northchester from the befuddled king of the elvish country just before Kiran had been sent as an envoy on his ill-fated journey to Drémeadow. Another, apparently, had been sent to Southchester. Neither the king’s queen nor his younger brother had seen hide or hair of King Irwin. Both subsequently sent messages to Jadafoquerp and Merelimbor as well as the other lands on the planned route. King Irwin had gone first northeast to Baur’s Galvin Puddington, then continued directly north to Gloomf’s king Heemo Spivak before turning east into Jadafoquerp where not only the king but his entire entourage had disappeared.  “Have you heard anything new from Merelimbor, Jadafoquerp or anyone else?” he inquired, indicating the tapestry of the continental map that his Lord had hanging on the wall opposite them.

            “We have not,” the Duke answered, dolefully rubbing the loose skin around his eyes. “We even contacted Rheeding and Drémeadow in case a navigational error was made and he ended up in one of them.”

            Kiran winced at the mention of the halfling land. “What did they say? Or have they not answered?”

            “Nothing has been seen or heard by any of the men or halflings working under Leonardus Seifert,” the Duke responded heavily “The… Foxtrots either.”  His mouth twisted as though he had just sank his teeth into a particularly sour lemon. He drew in a long breath before snapping back into his usual all-business, no-nonsense mien. “Anyway, Queen Arabella will be coming to visit along with Prince Lamar and the two princesses. I’ve also sent a message to Bolingbarke University bidding Howard and Herman return home and to procure their coursework lest they fall behind. I am inviting Headmaster Vasebaek as well.”

            “He’s still there, then?” Kiran exclaimed in sudden delight.

            The Duke replied, “yes, he is, and I do recall Hector being rather fond of him as well. He’s been Headmaster since 2993.” Kiran nodded comprehendingly. Yes, that made sense. He remembered hearing from his school friend Valmont Biscardi that Headmaster Vasebaek had been new to the post in the throes of the war with Spolingharrow. Valmont had been everyone’s veritable encyclopedia of information, given the fellow was the son of a man who’d served on Bolingbarke’s City Council. This thought in mind, Kiran made a mental note to send his friend a letter in case a chance ever presented itself.

            Duke Ivan’s voice came back into focus. “…therefore, Helena’s not coming.”

            Kiran blinked, startled. The second child of his lord never missed Benoit family events, whether those of her father or the commands of her aunt or uncle. Even when she and her husband, the Earl of Port Benvenet, had first married, they had traveled to Southchester to discuss the implications of both their marriage and to celebrate Prince Lamar turning fourteen.  “She isn’t coming, my lord?” he asked, wanting to ask about the reason but knowing that doing so would encompass overstepping boundaries.

            “No,  she is not. I agree with her husband. It would not be wise for her to travel in her present condition. It would not be good for her health or that of my unborn grandchild.”

            The constable’s dark brown eyes went wide and he slapped his palms into his lap, making the couch shake slightly. “She is expecting?” Kiran exclaimed. If Helena were to have a son, then there would be yet another male in line for the throne after Prince Lamar, the Duke and the Duke’s three sons. It would be altered yet again when the Duke’s sons had their own, but for the nonce the possible son of Helena and the Earl of Port Benvenet would be sixth in the line of succession. Unlike lands such as Averda, where there were no heirs, and Drémeadow, which only ever had Hrothgar Foxtrot as a king and no officially declared heir, Cancalia had absolutely nothing to worry about. “Congratulations! When is she to have the child?”

            “Sometime in the summer, they’ve yet to settle on a precise date.” He rubbed his right temple, looking suddenly very pensive. Kiran  I shall have to visit her and have Hector in my stead if at all possible when things have quieted down here.”

            Kiran shifted, feeling slightly guilty. There was no question in his mind as though why the Duke felt the present would be an inopportune time to go on a journey to see his daughter. And now, with Folco and Lindo missing, things would only be more harrowing. “How are the refugee barracks coming along?” he asked. After the Duke had been alerted to the imminent arrival of dozens of halfling refugees along with Kiran a fortnight prior, when the paladin had ridden ahead on his breathtakingly quick white horse to inform the Duke of what had happened at the Pre-New Years Banquet, orders had been issued for the construction of a refugee camp. Kiran still very vividly remembered the mingled horror, disappointment, shock and resignation in Duke Ivan’s face after he’d learned just how badly Kiran’s diplomatic mission had gone. He’d come to the realization that the paladin was not in any way to blame after Kiran had healed a dagger’s nick in the arm of one of the guards to show he had not committed any crimes that would make him lose his paladin abilities. He could barely remember a time of greater gratitude and relief than when he realized his lord did not blame him in the slightest.

            The middle-aged noble sighed lightly. “There’s been a delay. Word’s reached my ears of bad weather that makes construction impossible.”So it seems I will be keeping the halflings… hobbits… here a bit longer. Speaking of them, have you learned anything of their prince? Or his friend, since his friend would likely know something of his fate?”

            Kiran tensed. “No, Your Grace, although I have noticed something… it could mean nothing, or it could mean very ill tidings indeed.” He swallowed back a lump in his throat. “Perhaps they’re just dreams- I certainly hope they are.”

            “Well? Duke Ivan said sharply. “Continue!”

            Rubbing at the niggling stubble beginning to manifest on his chin, the paladin launched into a description of both the dream he’d had regarding the attack on the bandits and the capture of the two young hobbits in what had suspiciously resembled the Waste of Dré region based off his own disturbing memories of the wasteland. He would not for a long time forget the taint in the air, or the blinding headache that came from the memory of evil.

            When he reached the part where one of the Drémeadow hobbits had seized Folco and looked down the back of his shirt to see the damning Foxtrot  crest sewn into it, the Duke stood up quickly enough to stagger slightly, recovered himself,  and began pacing feverishly around the table in the center of the room. The paladin paused, but his lord waved him on through his account. Once he’d finished where his vision of the bandits’ death and Folco and Lindo being chained and blindfolded by the Drémeadow officials, he looked at Duke Ivan, who pursed his lips. “Tell me the other dream, then,” the noble ordered in the razor-sharp voice Kiran knew he had a propensity for adopting when agitated.

            Kiran plowed through the story of the deplorable conditions in which they were kept, the apparent lack of food and sources of warmth given the comments of both lads, and the adolescents’ exchange with King Hrothgar’s advisor Jarmir Esteel.  “That adviser seems to have quite a lot of say, at least in your dreams” the Duke commented. “Why is it him and not the king being informed of Prince Folco’s capture?”

            Kiran frowned. He’d pondered over the very same question. “I suppose it’s possible his father utterly refuses to see him,” the paladin suggested, “but one would think there would be mention of him. Unless that all happens outside of my dream, or vision, or whatever those were? It’s funny… there was thunder and lightning… strange weather for winter, no?”

            One of the Duke’s whitening, thinning eyebrows arched upward. “Thunder and lightning? I did not see either.”

            Kiran frowned in confusion. “Nont’im was there for the second one… you know, my half-elf, half-hobbit friend… he said he saw it.”

            The Duke waved a hand. “I did not say I do not believe you,” he chastised the paladin. “Do you think I have forgotten your many exploit, or how you saved Helena’s life? Well?”

            “Of course not, my Lord,” Kiran said, “but I know that sort of weather is unusual in January…”

            The Duke interjected, “all the more reason to believe those are more than just dreams! Their very presence alone, never mind the timing, bodes something unusual. I’ve learned that to ignore your visions from the gods, or wherever their source, would be exceptionally foolish.”  Kiran bowed his head. “This is why I am permitting you to go- assuming I am correct in my guess that you intend to search, even in Drémeadow itself if you must?” Kiran nodded, surprised. “I would point out that going there could get you killed, but knowing you as long as I have, I would assume you’ve already thought of that.”

            “I have,” said Kiran, “and you would also know how concerned I am for my own life when someone, or in this case two someones, I feel it my duty to protect is in danger.” Even as he spoke, fear stirred within him.   How would they be treated, anyway, if they were in Drémeadow? Surely, they would be treated delicately for the sake of Folco's rank- but possibly not. After all, his actions did constitute treason. What sort of condition would they be in? Hopefully they wqouldn't be mistreated.

            The Duke sighed. “Not at all,” he finished for his constable. “Very well. Just make sure you are not recognized. Who did you intend to take with you, anyhow, if anyone?”

            Kiran responded, “Nont’im.” Duke Ivan rolled his eyes slightly. “I know he’s recognizable,” Kiran added quickly, “but if we somehow disguise him, or me, or both, we might be able to avoid unwanted attention.”

            Duke Ivan abruptly clapped his hands, beaming. Kiran stared. “I have an idea,” the Duke said. “I must warn you, Nont’im might not like it…”

~*~*~

            Two hours later, Kiran had met with Nont’im at their appointed location and related the plan over their meal, using the background noise to conceal their conversation. “I must show you your disguise, though,” the paladin said. He could scarcely contain the smirk threatening to overwhelm his face. The look on his friend’s face would be priceless. “Oi, stop  gawping at the barmaid and look! I’ve got it here in the pack the Duke gave me, along with the children’s clothes meant to conceal who Folco and Lindo really are and make them look like two small boys of Rheeding, my sons.” 

Nont’im straightened curiously, craning his neck to see inside the bag. Kiran pulled the opening towards himself to block his friend seeing. “Come off it!” protested the hybrid. “Let me see!”

“As you wish. Close your eyes.”  Nont’im obeyed. A minute later, after a loud show of removing the contents of the bag, he commanded, “now open.”

Nont’im did so. When he saw what Kiran was brandishing, he yelped “you must be joking!”

It was a long velvet maroon dress with lacy sleeves and hem in the sort of style a girl ten years of age might wear.

Author's Note

How was the action/dialogue/description balance?

As for the visions, I hope they somehow make sense? I know they did not get specific about where the prison is in Dremeadow, but I have ideas for eradicating that flaw- right now, vague idea is to go to Dremeadow (speaking of which, ought I to insert some sort of argument over how vague plan is in regards to where in Dremeadow Kiran and Nont'im will eventually go?)

Ought I to have Duke explaining his ideas and the plan he and Kiran devise, or stick to allowing it to manifest itself later, starting with what I did with the clothes?

I'm also contemplating revising this piece so that chapters 2 and 3, which highlights the poisoning, Kiran's disgrace and the reason Folco left Dremeadow, into a prologue and shifting some chapters around. Thoughts?

Reviews

[Mila]

Uh oh! Good job keeping the reader engaged with this one! Again, apologies if my reviews appear out of order, I have read your stuff already without leaving a review. :p I'm a horrible person. XD

[NoelHC]

Kiran is going to Dremeadow? That may not the be the best idea. But necessary to the tale, of course.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Yeahhhh, he's definitely playing the bad ideas game here o_O Good thing he's going in disguise! Assuming it works

[jjwilbourne]

This chapter pushed the plot along and added that feeling of anticipation that I always feel right before Harry, Ron & and Hermione attempt on of their plans. Don't explain the plan. Its better this way.
Well done.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Awww, given I've been a Potterhead since I was 12 that's big compliment!

[Craig2591]

"The light emanating from the candelabra in the center of the room threw the lines etched upon the noble’s face into sharp relief, highlighting the years of care faced by the younger brother", paints a wonderful image!

I might let them get to Dremeadow and then do a little spy work to find out where the prison is.

Let the plan manifest itself. Keep us all guessing.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Thank you so much! I certainly shall. Did some slight revision, but only in this paragraph where Kiran's talking with the Duke, so it now says:

“I have,” said Kiran, “and you would also know how concerned I am for my own life when someone, or in this case two someones, I feel it my duty to protect is in danger.” Even as he spoke, fear stirred within him. How would they be treated, anyway, if they were in Drémeadow? Surely, they would be treated delicately for the sake of Folco's rank- but possibly not. After all, his actions did constitute treason. What sort of condition would they be in? Hopefully they wouldn't be mistreated.

[Nonnye]

Hi,
Interesting chapter. Enough for me to read more. Regarding POV from the antagonist doing so deepens the story. (Robert Jordan's the "Wheel of Time series is an excellent example.) In doing this the story becomes more real. All the characters interesting. Good direction to take a story. As far as how dark to go? What is done in shadow is far harsher than what is done in the light. You can bring your audience to it's knees by what is hinted at.

[Robert Tusitala O'Neill]

I am actually shocked to say that it is so well written and so effective from this point of view that I would not change much of anything at all. As usual your writing is dense, though this is part of your style. If I would add anything it would be some passive reading sentences (slightly more than you have already) so that it didn't feel quite so dense. It is excellent writing though, and exceptionally professional I would say as well! I think the kind of passive reading I am thinking of is description. Add description of the room, the walls, views out the window. All kinds of things. I can picture the scene as far as characters very well, and you have terrific descriptions of them, down to the smallest details. However, you don't give many visual cues for my mind to take off on the surroundings. I think it adds to it, but mainly because it gives the reader pauses and tangents and all that kind of thing. As usual your use of words is stellar and recondite. You definitely succeed in making Jarmir seem to be doing the right thing in HIS perspective, while leaving the reader space to see what he is doing as wrong in THEIR perspective, which is key! I am really not certain about maturity and violence. As I would judge, I am not particularly worried about violence, and as ridiculous as it is, it seems that the general climate of American censorship chooses violence over sexual themes most of the time. I would encourage you not to shy away from violence in telling your story. It is only gratuitous when it doesn't further the plot at all.

[The Nude Writer]

Wow you have such an imagination! I am wildly impressed by this!

[Kaira_Writer]

I love this chapter.But that was a lot of paragraphs,but I still love it.