by R J Hanson
Heirs of Vanity
Part III: Roland’s Truimph
Chapter I
Building
The spring of the year 1650 of the Age of the Restored Great Men Kings had been peaceful in the lands of Lawrec. The only news brought was of Daeriv’s forces pulling further back to the north. The Prince was tempted to storm forward as he had planned, however he was concerned that would likely over extend his already beleaguered forces. Sir Brutis advised caution and to use the time to build defenses and a network of guard towers north of the river that would host regular patrols. He had overseen just such defenses on the fronts of Tarborat and seen them work quite well. Although not an official advisor, Father Gadriel suggested the reprieve be a time for the planting of crops and replenishment of stores. Prince Ralston was wise enough to admit Father Gadriel understood the needs of the citizens of Lawrec better than any other. For the Father had distinguished himself, rather accidentally and certainly unintentionally, as a leader among those providing for the wounded and hungry.
The heat of spring’s month of Wachstrum, from the old word for ‘growth’, was fully upon the land. The sun tanned those working on the house that would be home to Sir Roland, son of Lord Velryk, and Clairenese, daughter of Lynneare, the Warlock of the Marshes. Roland, Eldryn, and Tindrakin had taken to making two-day patrols once a week from Skult to the surrounding areas. Kodii hunted and patrolled on his own in the nearby forests. They spent the rest of their time working on the log house and adjoining stables. Tindrakin’s skill with sword and polearm had improved tremendously. He still could not keep pace with Roland and Eldryn in their daily exercises, however, the training was doing him good. Kodii taught them all more of his unusual fighting style which called for more grace than brute strength.
The first two rooms of the house were completed, and work had begun in full force on the barn and corral. Eldryn and Tindrakin had taken to staying in the barn of the evening rather than making the ride to and from Skult every day.
It had been a long day of cutting trees and hauling them from the nearby woods. Eldryn worked in the woods selecting the trees to be harvested. He had discovered his training in building siege engines, although limited, was quite helpful in this task. Furthermore, as a child he had learned his father, Ellidik, had been the one that selected the trees for their home near Fordir. Having learned this, El’ spent a great deal of time studying the stumps of those selected trees and their relation to the trees left to grow. In a way it became a means to walk with his father and to learn about how he thought. As trees were harvested, the pattern began to emerge to the others. Rows were cut east to west leaving no concealment of approaching parties from a properly positioned observer, someone moving north to south along their edge. Furthermore, the east to west rows provided a place to gather and cover for livestock from the cold northern winds of winter.
Tindrakin used one of his horses to haul the logs back to the house. Others, those with less humble beginnings, might have been put off by such labors. However, Tindrakin had known hard work all his life and was happy to serve his brother’s in arms in any way he could. He had learned a great deal from Eldryn in the handling of horses and had also managed to teach his favorite, Line Breaker, many tricks.
Roland worked continuously, with a hand axe in each hand, to trim the trees and shape the logs. For the first few days the hired men had spent more time marveling at Roland’s endurance and skill than getting much work done of their own. Some of the properly trained carpenters among them had initially scoffed, although not aloud, at the idea of a warrior shaping poles and logs for a structure of any sort. However, after observing Roland’s precision with an axe blade, they scoffed no more. He worked with a speed and skill they grew to envy. From time to time he would ask advice about a particular cut or channel but, once marked with burnt grease by a carpenter, he shaped the wood with remarkable accuracy.
The men Roland hired worked hard but could not keep pace with the warrior. They set the logs into their postholes or wall channels along the barn wall as soon as Roland finished them. More than one of them wondered just what sort of creature or man would stand against this giant armed with an axe. They could not imagine anything that could stand in his way for more time than it would take him to swing that deadly and exacting blade.
Clairenese used Roland’s flaming blade to burn runes into the baseboards of their bedroom. Her work was slow and methodical. She was exacting in her own way. This would be the home she would share with her husband. This would be the home where she would shelter her children. That thought stopped her. Children? More than one? She had two walls finished when it was time to begin preparing dinner.
At first many of the workers from Skult were polite, but suspicious of any meal prepared by the daughter of Lynneare. Time, and tempting smells from the kitchen, won them over soon enough and it had become tradition for everyone on the small estate to eat an evening meal together in the glad that lay just beyond the front door.
It had been a day filled with hard work and the men looked forward to the evening meal Clairenese had set, more often than not with fresh meat provided by Kodii. The group ate in silence and went to their beds, or in the case of most of the workmen to the hay collected in the barn, shortly after their meals were finished.
Roland and Claire laid next to one another in their bed both enjoying dreams of their son’s laughter filling their large stone home. A home crafted by dwarven skill and built to withstand almost anything nature or man could hurl at it. The dream was a powerful one and much like dreams Roland had had before; at least the ones he’d had since holding the Sands of Time. It filled him with a pleasant peace, an understanding of home and family. As for Claire, her dreams confirmed something she already knew, something her powerful intuition had already suggested. She had been pregnant with Roland’s son for two months now.
The next morning found them all but Kodii hard at work. Kodii had already begun his hunt for the day hours before. Halfway to the noon hour Roland noticed a post rider coming from the direction of Skult. He called for Claire and the husband and wife-to-be met the rider at the small wooden gate to the yard. Claire brought a wrapped meal, as was customary, and handed it to the rider when he arrived. The rider accepted the meal gladly with one hand and produced a small pack of letters for Roland with the other.
“Any news of Daeriv?” Roland asked the rider.
“Only good news,” the rider said. “Meaning, of course, that no news is good news in that regard.”
“Thank you,” Claire said.
“No directions from Prince Ralston?” Roland asked.
“None, sir,” the post rider said. “I can inquire of him, well of his page, on your behalf if you like.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Roland said, waving his hand. “I’m sure he’ll send for me when he’s ready.”
“Yes, sir,” the rider said.
“Thank you,” Claire said again, not wanting the post rider to depart without a final word of thanks. “The meal I packed will keep for a few days, if you’d like to join us for our noon meal. Something hot.”
“Thank you, m’lady, but I must be riding,” he said. “The post never stops.”
The rider gave her a smile, thanked them for the readied meal, and wheeled his horse back toward the trail to Skult.
The rider’s smile was good to see. They had been back from their trip to Modins for a few months now. When they first returned even Roland had noticed the anxiety of the people they met on the road or bartered with in town. They were all afraid of Claire, of what she might do, of what her father might do. None were foolish enough to voice any sort of disdain, much less an insult, but all were fearful. In these past few months the people of Lawrec, enjoying the first peace they had known in years, were beginning to warm up to Claire if only for the fact her betrothed was the main reason for that peace.
Roland and Claire walked to the small, simple, cabin and sat on a roughhewn bench just outsid
e the front door. Roland took a deep drink of water from the bucket nearby and wiped the water from his mustache and beard while Claire opened the letters.
The first was a short, business like, note from Marnie explaining the attached papers detailed the business ventures she was managing. It appeared she had been quite active in many different markets and avenues of investment. Among those investments was a system of informants and spies she paid and bribed on a regular basis as noted in the payment section of the attached ledgers. No names were mentioned as she noted her ‘employees’ by a coded number only. Furthermore, the words ‘informant, spies, and bribes’ were replaced with words such as ‘mill worker, huntsman, and arrows’ in order to conceal the nature of the expenses.
Most of the ledger pages were clear and to the point, however, another letter was quite cryptic. The words were not even words. They were nonsense clumps of letters and numbers. Roland caught Claire’s smile out of the corner of his eye.
The letter was no doubt a code of some sort, for there were many that would pay a silver or two for a look at the correspondence of a knight. But the letter offered no key, no means of unlocking it.
“Well,” Roland said hoisting the page. “Is it some sort of magic?”
“After a fashion, my dear,” Claire said armed with knowledge gleaned from attending to some of her father’s affairs. “Look to the first note from her. Where she says to tell Eldryn she continues her studies of what he taught her.”
“So?”
“What did Eldryn teach her?” Claire asked.
“Riding, something of the sword and the spear, a bit of tactics in regard to a cavalry charge…”
“Did he not teach her of his Code?” Claire asked.
“Well, yes, but I don’t see…”
“No, my dear, you do not,” Claire said. “How fortunate for you that you surround yourself with clever people and have chosen to marry one of them. Eldryn’s Code. The old Code. The Code of the Cavalier. Code.”
“So, the old Code is?”
“Is a means of understanding this code,” Claire said, finishing his sentence and smiling at him again.
Although they looked the same age it was easy for Claire to forget Roland was, in years, still very young while she was well into her second century of life. She loved the man but found the boy in him quite charming at times.
“If you were to write down the old Code, line for line and space for space, and then compare it to this page you should see a correlation. When you replace the letters of one with the letters of the other the message should become clear.”
“That is brilliant!” Roland exclaimed.
“It would seem you have been blessed enough to have a young woman of such brilliance in your employ,” Claire said, smiling as she thought of meeting Marnie for the first time.
Roland furrowed his brow making the substitutions of letters in his mind and he studied the page. It took him some time, but he didn’t want to risk writing something down that might be spied by a scout or by other, magical, means.
Roland didn’t understand those means but it was no secret Daeriv had a way of gathering protected information about Prince Ralston and his forces. Sitting there next to the woman he loved and planned to marry, Roland was not about to take any chances.
As Roland puzzled over the page, Claire took a moment to see him. To really see him. Here, sitting on this roughhewn bench in front of the home they were building together, she made a point to memorize the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek below his eye that held so much joy always eager to rise with his quick honest smile, the smell of his hair mixing with the smell of his oiled leathers, the rich blue of his iris and how it so contrasted the pure white of his eyes. Pure. He was pure, in motive, in heart, in belief, and in deed. His simple view of the world, untainted by jealousy, malice, or greed, had been as refreshing to her soul as clear water from a mountain stream during the spring melt. It was no wonder she loved this man so, for knowing him had given her so much hope. In knowing him she had realized she could become so much more than she ever thought possible.
The page communicated a simple message. The price on his head had gone up. The Black Fly seemed eager to have their business with him completed, and completed quickly. The possibility of them coming for him, even here in the heart of Lawrec, was not only real but likely.
Roland, showing unusual wisdom, passed along the possibility of a threat to Claire. She nodded, for she had long ago memorized all common texts just for this type of communication and had finished deciphering the letter minutes before. Roland also told Eldryn, Tindrakin, and Kodii of a possible threat but said nothing more. They had accomplished much in the past few weeks, so Roland discharged the men he had hired from town that very afternoon. Not wanting to cheat them in any way, he paid them their wages for the rest of the week. His reasoning there was twofold. If the Black Fly came for him here, he did not want any hired men hurt in a fight that was not theirs. Furthermore, there was a chance any man he hired from Skult might be a spy or assassin.
After the workmen were well on their way down the trail, Roland waved everyone to the house. Roland answered their questioning looks with only a gesture to the bedroom of the small structure. Once the door was secured, Roland took another good look at Claire’s work on the baseboards of the small room.
“These protect against scrying?” Roland asked.
“They do,” she confirmed, already knowing what this would be about.
“Good,” Roland said.
“Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” Eldryn asked.
“News from Marnie,” Roland began. “She’s learned our, my, offense against the Black Fly has, for some reason, garnered more attention from their leadership. A large bounty has been placed on my head and there are indications they know we are somewhere near Skult.”
“You do tend to announce your movements and whereabouts,” Eldryn said. “Watches, then?”
“Yes,” Roland said. “For a time, anyway. I thought tomorrow we would focus our work on securing the barn. I know the breeze at night has been pleasant, but I think this merits more caution.”
“Maybe we could set up some traps,” Tindrakin said.
“If we knew they would be coming soon, then yes,” Roland said. “However, it might be weeks, or months before they found us or tried to move against us. Any traps we would set would decompose over time. Also, there’s the possibility of one of us forgetting where they were set and causing us more harm than good. Alarms might be a good idea though.”
“I watch,” Kodii said simply. “I sleep when you work. I watch when you sleep.”
It was decided that easily. Roland could think of few others he would rather have to watch for assassins in the night. Kodii was a masterful hunter and tracker. In his element, this element, Roland could not imagine anyone that could rival Kodii. However, in these matters Roland’s lack of experience could mean the death of someone close to him.
Claire loved the man she was word-bound to marry. However, she saw no need in revealing a certain secret. A secret that might indeed stand as a precaution against those who would haunt the night.
Leagues away, beyond the veil of reality and far from this world that could be touched and known, a dark figure sat alone, just out of reach of the light, watching the many stories of Stratvs play out beneath the transparent marble floors of his majestic abode. He sat with OathKeeper next to him, sheathed tip to the floor, with his arm slung over the cross piece upon which he leaned. He heard the sounds of parchment leafing rapidly, the sounds of her particular sort of foot fall, coming down the garden path nearby.
“I’m glad, yet surprised, you allowed the conception of their first child so quickly,” Bolvii said. “Their races are so long lived, after all.”
Fate glided around the corner and into the alcove where Bolvii sat and contemplated the world between his sandaled feet. The Tomb of Fate floated along behind her, ever ready for her attention or adjustment. Her
dress of liquid sapphires swam over the curves of her shoulders and embraced her hips.
She knew he was hoping for hints of what might come. Bolvii had always been soft on that particular bloodline and impatient to know the future. She understood the feelings of fatherhood he had for those of the Great Man race, for it was Bolvii himself that fathered many of their more significant progenitors. She did see much of Him in them, unfortunately not enough. For her part, she also felt some sorrow for the couple he viewed. For she knew what tragedies were likely to come. None, save Time himself, could understand what she must do for the good of the whole. Most were happy to blame her for outcomes of pain and loss. Most were quite willing to lay the consequences of violence and strife at her feet.
“The child has a purpose,” Fate said. “As they all do. Big or small, great or seemingly insignificant, all of those in the womb have a purpose. This child is no different.”
“And the timing of his birth?”
“Also has its purpose,” Fate said.
The outside door to Roland and Claire’s bedroom, still free of any runes or glyphs, began to open in eerie silence. Three slight men crept into the room, each carrying a heavy crossbow. Another man with death black hair, stark blue eyes, and ashen skin followed them. He was large enough to fill the door and block the moonlight from the room. He stood with a shrou-sheld in hand, waiting.
Each of the three took careful aim. The crossbows were leveled and each man took in a breath, and then slowly released it. As one, they squeezed the triggers of their crossbows and three enchanted bolts were hurled at Roland’s unprotected head.
Roland felt small hands push him and the first thing he realized was he was falling. As Roland hit the floor with a thud three crossbow bolts ripped through his pillow. Roland leapt up and saw a large man swinging a black bladed shrou-sheld at a startled Clairenese. The blade continued, as if in slow motion to Roland’s eye, on its path toward her bare flesh. Claire whispered something into the night and waved her hand discretely. The shrou-sheld was knocked aside as if it had been struck by a mighty blade. The magical force of her quick and quiet word and defeated the deadly power of that swing.