Mikahl suddenly realized that the very same thing would be said of his departure. As King Balton’s personal squire, he had enough access to have easily slipped him some poison. He would be a suspect, but Lord Gregory, and his wife, Lady Trella, would vouch for his integrity. Everyone close to King Balton knew that Mikahl loved and respected his king dearly. The problem was that soon-to-be King Glendar didn’t like Lord Gregory, nor did he know his own father’s heart very well. If Glendar had a part in his own father’s murder, then Mikahl could easily end up being the scapegoat. It didn’t matter at the moment though; his King had given him orders from the deathbed. He would find this giant named Borg and deliver Father Petri’s package to the King of the Giants, or he would die trying to do so.
Mikahl didn’t want Lord Brach or his men following him. He had to find a way to slow them down. He walked over to where Ruddy was working and tapped the unsuspecting man on the shoulder. As the Stable Master turned, Mikahl slugged him heavily across the jaw. Ruddy fell into a heap on the stable’s dirty floor. Mikahl then led the two other horses to the running pen behind the stable. He sent them galloping off into the darkness with a sharp slap on their rumps.
Wasting no time in preparing for his own departure, he mounted his horse, Windfoot, and led his packhorse out the unattended gate that opened onto the cobbled streets of the inner city. He did exactly as King Balton had instructed him to do, and went straight to the chapel.
Father Petri was expecting him. The priest seemed both sad and nervous as he led Mikahl and both of his horses up the entry steps and into the chapel.
The chapel’s vaulted ceiling was high overhead and row after row of empty wooden pews spread out to each side. Sitting on a horse, whose clomping hoof beats echoed loudly and deeply into the huge and otherwise empty chamber, Mikahl felt very out of place. As they made their way down the center aisle toward the altar, the gods and goddesses all seemed to be scowling down at him from their permanent places in the colored glass along the higher reaches of the walls. One of the horses whinnied nervously and the ghastly sound sent a chill snaking up Mikahl’s back.
“Come, Mikahl,” the priest said. He took the reins of the packhorse from Mikahl and led them out of the worship hall, down a long corridor, through several arched doorways, and then into a large, nearly empty room at the back of the church. Mikahl had never seen this room before and it shocked him. It was not the sort of room he would have ever expected to find in a hall of worship. One entire wall was a huge, steel-banded door that resembled a gate. Two of the other three walls were covered with pegs. Hanging from the pegs were hundreds of weapons: swords, crossbows, long bows and pikes, as well as shields, helmets, and miscellaneous pieces of chain and plate armor.
“It’s a secret way out of the castle for the King in the event of a siege.” Father Petri answered the question in Mikahl’s mind. “You follow the briar path to the right, along the wall, until you come to the discharge drains. Then, follow the smelly stream away from the castle until you are well into the Northwood. Stay away from the city. People are about in Castleview even in the late hours. If you have to, stay in the woods until you reach Crossington. Once you are that far north, you should be safe to go wherever the king has told you to go.”
Mikahl had hoped to gain some insight from Father Petri as to who Borg was, and where exactly he was supposed to go, but the priest’s last statement indicated he was unaware of Mikahl’s destination. Mikahl had at least a dozen questions he wanted to ask, but he held his tongue. He did ask the one question that couldn’t wait.
“King Balton said you had something for me. What?” This was all too much for Mikahl to understand, so he tried not to think about it. He knew what he had been told to do. It wasn’t his place to question it.
Father Petri gave a short nod, reached into his robes, and produced an ornate leather scroll case.
“This is the message for you to deliver.” He bent down, lifting something heavy from the floor, and offered it up to Mikahl. It was a long, black leather sleeve, such as might be used to protect a prized longbow or an expensive two-piece staff. Mikahl carefully secured the scroll case in his saddlebag and took the item.
He knew what it was the moment he felt the weight of it in his hands. The consequences of having it came flooding into his brain and he almost dropped it in fear. He had to search deeply in his heart for courage. It was Ironspike, King Balton’s notorious sword. He knew because he had polished it a thousand times as part of his duty as the king’s squire. He had seen firsthand the wealth of gold and jewels inlaid into the leather-wrapped hilt and cross guard. He had seen the covetous looks of those who longed to possess it, and he had seen the fear it could inspire. He had watched the magical blade glow red hot as it clipped Lord Clyle’s insolent head from his shoulders, and he remembered vividly seeing King Balton dispatch at least a dozen of the feral half-breed giants with it during the Battle of Coldfrost. Its actual weight was slight compared to his old iron sword, but holding it now made Mikahl want to crumble.
Father Petri could tell that Mikahl knew what he had cradled in his arms. It was also obvious that the implications were not lost on the boy.