Though Antram had entered that castle in Augarin many times before, he was still impressed by its fortified walls whenever he contemplated them. The only walls that could be compared to them were those of the city itself. A walled city enclosing a walled castle. It was something he did not frequently see. Probably, Augarin was the only Goranian city that had no palace for its ruler.
Three thousand swordsmen and five hundred archers were mustered in the very castle he returned to with Elesandre, but those troops were hardly one-fourth of Daval's army. The rest were camping outside the castle to secure the capital of the South and protect its borders against Byzont raids. Or Rona’s army, in case she makes it that far.
Through the narrow corridors of the castle, Elesandre’s guards led the way to the great hall of the new king of Augarin. Finally, I’m going to get some answers, Antram thought as he entered the round great hall of King Daval, huge brown banners decorated with golden eagles dangling from the capitals of the six colossal columns. Surrounded by three young armored men wearing brown mantles, the King of the South sat on his throne, resting his chin on his fist. "Son of my brother." Daval rose up from his seat, walking toward Antram, embracing him to his amazement. "You have his eyes, son." Daval studied his face. "As if I am looking at Aurel himself."
Antram could barely recall how his father looked like. He had been too young when the Antrams' Massacre had happened.
"You knew my father?" Antram asked the brown-bearded king.
"I knew him? We were like brothers." Holding Antram’s shoulder, Daval walked him toward the three young men. "You have met my youngest, Elesandre. Now meet his elders; your brothers. Sons, this is Antram son of the late Lord Aurel."
Antram forced a smile to greet the three of them. This is not about my father. This is about his fiefs in the East.
“So, how was your stay in Augarin?” Daval asked him. “Was Elesandre hospitable enough?”
Yes, as long as I don’t pass the gates of the city. “Everything was good, but nobody told me why I deserved that hospitality.”
“Sure you have questions in your mind, but you know what, I have questions too,” said Daval. “I’m curious to hear from you how you have survived all those years. How old were you when Charlwood the bastard made that horrendous massacre to your family? Six? Seven? That is an inspiring tale of heroism that the Bermanian youth must learn about.”
Is he mocking me? Or is he really clueless about my past? Because Antram would not find anything heroic in his early life as a little bandit. “My tale might be a bit disappointing to you, Your Grace.” The last two words were heavy on Antram’s tongue, but he forced them anyway. “The tale I’m curious to hear is yours. Because if my late lord father was your brother, as you say, where were you when Charlwood burned your brother's family alive?"
Daval’s sons glowered at Antram. One of them mumbled with angry words, but his father stopped him with a hand gesture. “You believe I was a coward, Antram?” Daval asked tightly. “Is that what you want to say?”
If you don’t mind, Antram would reply. “My question is a simple one, Your Grace. Please don’t put words in my mouth.”
“You think that after you have spent a couple of years chasing cattle thieves, you are eligible to preach bravery here, in the South?" Daval curled his lip. "Do you know what does it mean to be a southerner? It means spending your entire life with your sword in its sheath, even when we go to piss. It means looking around with every step you make because this very step could lead you to a Byzont ambush. It means an arrow from a Byzont sharpshooter reaping your soul from a mile. This is how I spent my last thirteen years. So, don't dare to question my bravery, young man."
So, the false warm tone was gone, and the King of the South was now reminding Antram of his place here. "You haven't answered my question, Your Grace." Antram did not flinch as he straightened his back, his arms folded. “Where were you while Charlwood was annihilating the Antrams’ bloodline?”
Daval exhaled, obviously giving up the idea of intimidating Aurel’s surviving son. "Charlwood was a beast, son. I gathered your father's bannerlords to stand as one hand against the tyrant, but they all cowered, and now they are Foubert's bannerlords. I was on my own, and I feel sorry to say that, but I had nothing to do at that time. However, the odds have changed now. The South is the strongest region in Bermania, and now we can help you avenge your family and reclaim what is yours by birthright."
"And why would you help me, Your Grace?" Antram wanted Daval to voice his intentions out loud.
"We are indebted to your father for failing him," said Daval. "And I mean by 'we' all lords of Augarin and Lapond. Your father's cleric has cursed all his bannerlords, and promised them the deepest pit in hell after they die. Once they see the rightful heir of their true master, they will join him, seeking redemption."
The King of the South insisted on sticking to his tale of aiding his brother’s last son. "That simple?"
"Nothing is simple, son." Daval gave him a wry smile. "To win back what is yours, you have to fight for it. The question is: are you ready to shed some blood?"
"I never had interest in that bloody heritage." All Antram remembered about his heritage was a memory of flames and screams. "When I ran away from our burning house, I was too young to understand why that was happening. All I was thinking of at that moment was not to be caught by the men in armors decorated by lions. And the situation didn't change that much when the brigands found me and I became one of them. I was still avoiding being caught by the men in armors decorated by lions.
"When I decided to abandon the life of an outlaw, I left Bermania to make sure I would never meet by chance a man in an armor decorated by a lion. I traveled to Murase and Mankol before I started wandering as a Contest fighter. My life purpose was only one thing: earning some coin to avoid starvation. You have no idea how hard it was to earn silver in honorable ways! Much harder than it was in my life as an outlaw. At that point, I had no problem to join the men in armors decorated by lions as a mercenary, only because I would be paid in gold. But my life has changed when I met a few good men who showed me an honorable path to earn my coin.” And yet I abandoned them. “I fought for that path, I did shed blood for it, but the war you ask me to wage with you? No, Your Grace, I’m not ready for it.”
"But you were ready to spend the rest of your life as a caravan guard? Oh, please!" Daval furrowed his brow. "Aren't you exaggerating a little bit about the nobility of such a mission? What about standing for your family's rights? Isn't there any nobility in that?"
"Your Grace." Antram looked Daval in the eye. "You are asking me to fight a true brother to me."
"Who did not hesitate to marry Charlwood's daughter to become a king," Daval added. "What kind of a brother is he?"
"A brother who stood for his brothers, even when they were outnumbered." Antram recalled all those previous glorious days; the day of Kahora, the day of Herlog, and all the nights in the Murasen desert.
"You are talking about history. I am talking about a current situation. Your brother is sleeping with your enemy now."
Antram could not deny the bitter truth Daval mentioned. "Charlwood's daughter had nothing to do with my family's death." Stating that was not as simple as it sounded. Antram had a good reason to loathe the devil's daughter more than anybody else.
"So, I presume she would return your family's fiefs to you.”
Silently, Antram pressed his lips together.
"What about this? You travel to Paril and ask King Masolon—your brother—to give you Lapond, which is yours by birthright," Daval suggested. "He will not say no, will he?"
"I will not trade our brotherhood." Antram gnashed his teeth.
"You really disappoint me, son. I cannot believe that the last Antram puts some stranger ahead of his family." Daval shook his head in disapproval, his lips forming a firm line. "You listen to this. With or without you, we will take Lapond back. As for me, I can now sleep with a rested mind as I have settl
ed my debt to your father. As for you, I offer you one more day at my hospitality to give you a chance to clear your mind and ponder your priorities. If becoming a caravan guard is what you want then so be it, but don’t ever come afterward and tell me you have changed your mind. My patience has limits, son, and I have a kingdom to look after."
23. HALIN
"They are here, milord."
Halin felt the butterflies in her stomach when the page announced the arrival of Kaan Cunshez and his retinue at the royal palace of Maksow. In her worst nightmares, she had never imagined she would share the same roof with a Mankol for any reason. But tonight things were going beyond her limited imagination. In this very cursed night, she was supposed to dine with those barbarians. Could there be anything to do more sickening?
"Love, I don't want to attend this," she told Nestor. "I feel dizzy."
"You don't want to attend, or you feel dizzy?" Nestor arched an eyebrow, looking charming with the trimmed brown beard that made him seem older and wiser. He had the Queen Mother's blue eyes and brown hair, and his father's height and broad shoulders.
"I feel dizzy because I don't want to attend."
"They don't bite, Hal," said Nestor. "Besides, you are on your own ground. You must look much stronger."
"They are savages, Nestor." She could not help adjusting the white mantle he wore over his dark-grey surcoat. "Why do we let those beasts set foot in our palace in the first place?"
"Trust me." He leaned forward toward her. "Their Kaan would not come here himself to make peace with us if we were less fearful than those savages." He held her hand playfully, turning her around. "Now look at you! How am I supposed to focus during this meeting with this gorgeous girl by my side?"
Before and after their marriage he always knew how to put a smile on her face. She never loved a man like him.
"Now hold to my arm, Your Highness," he continued. "Let me show you that those Mankols do not differ so much from us. They have two eyes, two ears, one nose, and one mouth. And oh, I forgot; they walk on two limbs, not four."
"Is it true they drink blood of their enemies' corpses after battles?" Halin grimaced when the thought crossed her mind.
"The only way to know is to ask them." He shrugged carelessly.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Alright then." He tilted his head. "Shan't we go, Your Highness?"
She adjusted her red dress one last time and held Nestor's arm, letting him take her to the great hall, where King Bechov and his men were supposed to dine with their unusual guests. "Why didn't His Majesty invite my father?" she asked Nestor.
"Why should he? There is nothing urgent to make him leave Durberg at the moment."
"Will Larovic attend this meeting?" She knew he would be here, yet she had a glimpse of hope she might not see his grim face.
"Of course, he will. He must. He is the King's marshal, Hal. Do you have a problem with that?"
"No." Oh, yes, I have. He reminds me of his late vile son.
As she approached the table with her husband, she contemplated the Mankols clad in black silk cloaks over surcoats embroidered with gold. Not badly dressed for barbarians. Yet they did look different from Rusakians. It was true they had two eyes, two ears, one nose, and one mouth—Nestor was not lying to her—but their eyes were too narrow, their noses too small, their lips too thin. Still they were not bad looking at all, especially their Kaan. With his black silky hair, the Kaan looked much younger than King Bechov, although he had sons even older than Nestor.
"My son Lord Nestor the Crown Prince, and his wife the gorgeous Lady Halin," Bechov introduced them to their guests.
"You are such a lucky man, Lord Nestor." Kaan Cunshez glanced at Halin when he addressed her husband with his deep voice. Nestor's reply was nothing but a weighed smile when he took his seat at the table. Halin avoided looking at anybody, especially Larovic, until she was seated beside her husband.
"Shall we drink for our alliance?" The Kaan raised his chalice.
Alarmed, Halin turned to Nestor. Drink what? Her husband hid his smile with his fist, as if he had heard her unvoiced question.
"To our alliance." King Bechov raised his chalice as well. Everybody else sitting at the table did the same.
"I thought it was just a truce," Halin whispered in Nestor's ear.
"Things have changed a little bit." Nestor kept his voice low. "We will make a double attack on the Bermanian Kingdom. We take Karun, they take Lapond. And who knows how far we will reach."
"I thought we had an agreement with King Daval."
"Our agreement with King Daval is simply about allowing our troops to invade Karun, which is not under his authority as we speak right now," Nestor pointed out. "He might think we were fools when we accepted that agreement because we would end up fighting the other Bermanian King for him while he reclines on his throne in Augarin."
"But what if Daval has plans about Lapond? He will fight the Mankols in that case," said Halin.
"I presume the King in Augarin would have plans about the city that lies less than seventy miles away from his capital." Nestor chuckled mockingly. "Unfortunately, His Grace never shared his plans with us."
"Oh Lord!" Halin covered her mouth with her hand. "That is a big war, Nestor."
"Hey, lovebirds," Bechov teased them. "There will always be time for romance."
"They do not seem to be having a romantic conversation." Kaan Cunshez smiled crookedly.
Suddenly, Halin realized that all eyes were on her. "You are quite right, Your Majesty." She managed a smile. "Or should I address you as 'Your Kaan'?"
Cunshez laughed. "You address me the way you like, pretty lady."
"I beg your pardon, but this is my first time to talk to a Mankol Kaan." Her cheeks must be red now, she could feel their warmth.
"And it won't be the last, my dear." Cunshez gave her a lopsided smile before he turned to Bechov. "You should pay us a visit with Lord Nestor at our humble residence in Dibal."
"It will be a pleasure, Your...Majesty," she lied.
"I mean it." Cunshez's smile faded. "And trust me, we know how to entertain our guests very well."
"Who knows, we may visit you in your new residence in Lapond." Nestor came for the rescue.
"I am like the old generations, Lord Nestor," said Cunshez. "I cannot stay away from home too long. Perchance my sons will enjoy it there."
Nestor had told her that Cunshez had four sons. None of the men accompanying the Kaan looked any way similar to him. Except for the narrow eyes.
"What about you, my friend?" Cunshez asked Bechov. "Will you ride with your troops in your campaign, or will you send your lord son?"
Halin wanted to spit on the Kaan's face at the moment, but she did not want to start another war. Please, not Nestor. She found herself clutching her husband's hand.
"You scared the pretty bride, Kaan." Bechov guffawed.
"I just wish this madness would stop one day." Halin gnashed her teeth. "Why can't the realms of Gorania live together in peace?"
The laughter stopped as if she had thrown a rock on the table. "Halin." Nestor glared at her.
"She said nothing wrong, Nestor," said Bechov.
"It is my fault from the beginning. I forced her to attend although she is not feeling well today." Nestor's lips made a firm line.
"You shouldn't have done that, Lord Nestor." Larovic spoke at last. "That is why we do not involve women in men's business."
May you burn in hell with your son. Halin wanted to answer back, but the proper words escaped her mind.
"Lady Halin is the Crown Prince's wife, and tomorrow she will be the Queen of Rusakia. She must be aware of what is happening around her," Bechov stated firmly, surprisingly challenging his trustworthy marshal. Something that did not happen every day. . .
"The peace you are talking about could happen if men were not so greedy," Bechov continued, addressing Halin this time. "Those Bermanian bastards have been occupying our lands for long. Should we re
ward them with peace?"
"So, the war ends once we recapture Karun. Am I right?" She noticed that mocking smile on Larovic's face.
"The war ends once we put an end to men's greed, Lady Halin." Bechov's voice sounded firmer. "With the presence of the likes of Masolon on a throne, the ancient noble houses will perish by time. All taverns of Gorania will sing his tale to the drunkards, feeding their dreams of power and fortune. Commoners will aspire to sit in their masters' seats as lordship becomes so cheap. You see, our world is built on an order that makes it what it is. If we let someone mess with this order, our world will fall upon us."
Such big words to justify men's greed. Yet she knew it would not be decent to argue with the King, especially in the presence of his honorable guests. Karun and Masolon were just excuses; there would be other causes for tomorrow's wars.
"And to answer your question, Kaan Cunshez." Bechov turned to the Kaan. "The answer is yes. My son, Lord Nestor, is leading my army into Karun."
24. MASOLON
"A council of advisors?" Rona asked as she walked next to Masolon toward the throne hall. "You already have Ziyad. And me."
"The council I am asking for is not a big one," said Masolon. "All I need is two or three more men to help us handle all the pressing matters we have." Three Bermanian men, he remembered Payton's advice.
"We have to choose them carefully, then," said Rona as they entered the throne hall. "Otherwise, the council you request might be a hurdle that impedes us rather than a pillar to lean on."
Masolon would let her suggest his advisors as she knew her men better than him. But whoever she was going to appoint, Masolon was determined to make Ziyad their chief. Who else could he trust more?
The moment Masolon sat on his throne and Rona took the seat next to him, Ziyad announced, "Your messenger has returned from Augarin, Your Grace."
Daval did not kill him, then. Killing an envoy would be a barbarian act, but who knew how far the southerners would go? "Do we know why he took so long?" Masolon asked.
Throne of Ruins Page 18