Capter Four: The News

Kourey’s legs were sore from mouse riding for four days straight with minimal rest. His upper back was sore as well, ever since he had that strange dream. He leaned back in his saddle, and loosely held on to the reigns with one arm. Two other arms lazily swung along with the rhythm of his sizeable grey mouse’s trot. His fourth arm was where it usually was for the past several days; playing with the vile, now attached to a belt around his bronze armor. Ahead, down the wooded Hornblende Road, he could just barely see the City on the Bridge in the distance. He hadn’t been to Feldspar in some years, ever since Gorz’s age caught up to him and he could no longer ride. Kourey had never felt so nervous to be back.

Kourey rode alongside the three Royal Councilants, who sat in a comfortable, cushiony, open wagon, which was towed by four mice from the Royal Stables. Gorz leaned back in his seat, staring ahead at the city. He seemed anxious to get there. Strom looked more relaxed, seated next to Gorz. He held a wooden cup in his hand and a nearly full nectarwine skin rested on the cushion next to him. Zidney was asleep in the front end of the wagon, taking up an entire cushioned bench to himself.

The entire royal caravan consisted of several carriages of gifts, such as wine, food, jewels, fine clothing, and six of the best royal white mice from the stable. Three hundred Royal Soldiers guarded the caravan. Most formed a column leading the way to Feldspar. The rest brought up the rear, enclosing the caravan within a line of spears and armor. Almost fifty thousand soldiers from Galena were a day behind the caravan. They acted as insurance should anything go awry.

 Kourey bobbed his head, struggling to stay awake. He didn’t sleep well the night before. He had another strange dream that he had been flying, only this time it was over the Hornblende Cliffs. The sky was falling, the world was ending, and the capital city was on fire. He heard strange whisperings of a phrase he couldn’t get out of his head. Don’t kill the Queen. He woke up out of breath again earlier that morning.

He had spent most of the ride that day wondering what his dreams meant. Why would he kill the Queen? And which Queen was the stranger talking about? The Queen of Queens? She was back in Hornblende. The Queen of Feldspar, perhaps? But what might she do to make Kourey want to kill her? Was the Queen of Halite possibly still alive, and was she coming to Feldspar for the ‘negotiation?’

Kourey’s head spun all morning. He knew he had to be more alert once the caravan entered the city, though. He tried to take his mind off things by making conversation with the councilants. “When is the Sodden Pontiff expected to arrive in Feldspar?” he asked nobody in particular.

“Quicker than we expected,” said Gorz. “ They'll be here before sunset. We hoped to arrive at least a day before the Sodden Pontiff, so that we could prepare Feldspar for any…issues that may arise.”

Strom’s antennae perked up as he chimed in. “Issues such as reports that he’s bringing an army of half a million soldiers with him,” he said angrily.  “And they’re somehow moving much faster than we anticipated. We’ve given him too much leeway. He might try and use this ‘negotiation’ as an opportunity to besiege the city.” Strom filled his wooden cup with more nectarwine.

“But the ‘negotiation’ will not, under any circumstances go his way,” said Zidney. He was still lying down in the wagon. “Might even be a good thing his army is with him,” he said as he began to sit up. “They’re armed, armored, and ready to move. We could take them straight up the river toward the frontier instead of having to bring them all the way from Halite.” Zidney adjusted his worn-out cloak as he sat up straight. “It would save time and energy, and give us more time to prepare for the Mud King’s attack.”

“It depends on how eager they are to cooperate,” said Gorz.

“Remember how easily manipulated these Halitions can be, Gorz,” said Strom. “It shouldn’t be hard to convince them to fight for us.”

“But we must still proceed with caution,” Gorz responded. “It’s true they can be convinced easily, but these soldiers are still dangerous. When the Sodden Pontiff dies, the army will be confused and angry. We cannot afford to mishandle a situation as delicate as this, especially when the army is at the doorstep to the inland.”

“Your Royal Councilants!” shouted an unfamiliar voice. Kourey’s antennae perked up, and his hand instinctively moved from the vile and firmly gripped the handle of his sword. He looked behind him and saw a courier riding a small, swift, brown mouse. It quickly ran down the road, weaving in and out of the caravan as fast as it could. Kourey eased his hand off his sword when he noticed black and gold on the mouse. The courier approached the Royal Councilants’ wagon. He was younger than Kourey, and smaller. His face looked distressed, but it could have also been exhaustion. He wore a light, black tunic with gold trim, and carried one small sword around his waist. He held a rolled up letter and extended it to the councilants.

Gorz took the letter and examined the seal. “It’s from Hornblende,” he said. “When did you leave the capital?” he asked the courier.

“Two days ago,” said the young ant, out of breath. “I rode all day and all night.”

Gorz inquisitively raised one antenna. He cautiously broke the seal and read the letter. As he read, his eyes widened, and at the same time his antennae sagged. He hung his head low as he handed the letter to Strom. Strom read the letter, and reacted similarly to Gorz. Strom took a big gulp of nectarwine as he passed the Letter to Zidney.

“What is it?” asked Kourey with confusion and concern. “What does the letter say?”

Gorz looked at Kourey straight in the eyes. “The Queen of Queens is dead.”