The Godling Chronicles: A Trial of Souls (Book 4)

by Anderson, Brian D.

  Lee glanced at Millet inquisitively.

  “Dina mentioned about showers to the mayor’s wife not long after we arrived,” Millet explained. “She liked the idea so much that she had one built in her house. Now, she likes to show off by allowing visitors to use it - especially visitors from elsewhere. For some reason, she suspects Dina of being a foreign noble in disguise, so she steals her away at every opportunity.”

  Lee chuckled softly. “I did so miss this place.” He called Jacob over, who forced a smile and joined them. “Forgive my son’s melancholy. But we’ve been through quite a lot.”

  Jacob’s smile slowly vanished, returning to a sullen stare as his eyes shifted past the gathering and to the wall behind them. “Yes. Once I’ve settled my mind and rested, then I’ll be more like myself.” These words seemed to shake him to life and he looked at Millet with a hint of cheer returning. “Though perhaps a touch less spoiled and angry than you may remember.”

  Millet did not return the levity. “My lad, you and your father escaped Angrääl, and I believe that alone earns you a bit of rest. And though this is not Hazrah, it is your home nonetheless, so long as it stands.”

  Jacob bowed. “I thank you.” His voice was emotionless.

  Millet could not help but wonder why Lady Penelope was not with them, “If you are able, I would hear of your journey,” he said to Lee. “Unless you would rather wait until after...”

  “No. It need not wait.” Lee’s face darkened and his jaw tightened. He told them of the events after they had parted ways. “We made our way south through the wilderness until we were well away from Angrääl,” he concluded, “then gained passage on a boat heading to Baltria on the Goodbranch.”

  Tears streamed down Millet’s cheeks on hearing of Lady Penelope’s fate. “My heart breaks at this news. Do you think this Captain Lanmore spoke truth? Could she still live?”

  Lee shrugged. “Perhaps. I cannot be certain. If she does, it’s as a slave to the King of Angrääl. Whatever the case, my course is clear; I must fight until one of us is destroyed. If my wife still draws breath, then that is the only way to free her. If she does not, it is the only way to avenge her.”

  “What can I do to help?” asked Millet, fury boiling up in his voice.

  “Allow Jacob and I to enlist into your service,” Lee replied, earnestly. “To give you aid in the fight that will surely come.”

  “The fight has already come,” interjected Dina.

  Millet nodded and told them of the faithful, and of the news coming in from the west. “Valshara is retaken and your mother is in command of Amon Dähl. Beyond that, we know nothing.”

  Lee thought on this for several minutes. “It is good that Lord Ganflin and Broin have sent help, but the fact is that the army Angrääl will send here will crush any resistance we can offer.”

  “There is one other thing,” said Millet. “Two days ago I received a message that an elf army is marching from the desert beyond Dantory.”

  Lee raised an eyebrow. “Then the rumors we heard all those years ago were true.”

  Millet nodded. “So it would seem. When Linis arrives, I have considered sending him east to plead for their aid. But that won’t be for some time. Several weeks at least.”

  Lee grinned. “Linis travels swiftly. And though slowed by human soldiers, I suspect he will find ways to motivate them.”

  Millet’s concern showed on his face. “Yet even with his assistance, should Angrääl land here in force, we will be heavily outnumbered and may have to surrender Sharpstone.” His frown grew deeper. “The king has been resistant to raising an army, and the lands surrounding Baltria are already subdued. The cities and towns west to Kaltinor are in turmoil. It will take time to reclaim them from the Dark Knight’s influence. I have begun to send gold to our allies, but I fear we may be too late.”

  “If we are overrun,” said Lee. “You must decide which direction to take.”

  “I have given it much thought,” said Millet. “The lands east from here to the desert have been largely ignored by the Dark Knight. It seems he intends to cut the land in half, and with his forces engaged in the west, I believe he will focus his attention there first.”

  “So you will go east?” asked Jacob.

  “I hope to stay here,” replied Millet determinedly. “But yes. Should it come to that, I think east would be the wiser course. We can gather support along the way. Your father and I have spent many years in the hills and valleys east of the Goodbranch, and have many friends there.”

  “So what do you need to prepare,” asked Lee.

  “It will help that you are here,” said Millet. “I have driven the faithful to the brink, and your presence will further unravel them. Aside from that, you can coordinate a defense with the two knights of Amon Dähl. I think you will find them quite capable.” He smiled warmly. “Of course, there is the question of your lands and title to be resolved.”

  Lee shook his head and held up his hand. “There is nothing to resolve. You are lord of the House Nal’Thain, not I.”

  Millet laughed. “This is true. And I have no intention of returning them to you.” His eyes fell on Jacob. “Once our duty is fulfilled, my intention is to pass over lordship to your son.”

  “That is not...” began Jacob.

  “I am an old man,” said Millet, cutting him off. “I was honored to wear the mantle of Lord Nal’Thain when your father found himself unable to do so, and at the time there was no one else. But it is clear that you are not the confused boy you once were. The look in your eyes and the expression on Lee’s face tells me that. I will retain the manor in Sharpstone as reward for my service. But once this war is over, I hope to have earned a peaceful retirement.” He reached out and patted Jacob’s knee. “But don’t worry. For now, you are free of the burden.”

  Lee nodded with satisfaction. “This is agreeable. And I think by then we will both have earned some peace.” He looked at Jacob. “I know you will do honor to our family.”

  Jacob sighed heavily, then chuckled. “We’ll all probably be dead soon anyway.”

  Lee let out a full on belly laugh. “Good point.”

  “I think we’ve had enough unhappy talk for now,” said Dina. “I’ve missed your stories, Lee. For all his talents, Millet would make a wretched bard. Regale us with an exploit of your youth. The more fantastic the better.”

  Lee leaned back and smiled. “How can I refuse?”

  His tales told during the hours leading up to dinner were indeed astounding, though the occasional quiet cough from Millet exposed a few small exaggerations. Lee quickly corrected these by adding in Millet’s bravery as well.

  The meal was just as pleasant. All the hired hands, plus as many of the sell-swords as they could accommodate, gathered around the large dining table. Songs were sung and stories were told. For the first time since Millet and Lee had left Sharpstone the manor felt warm and alive again. Even Lydia joined in and sang a sweet lullaby she had learned as a child.

  By the time the meal was over, Millet felt as if years of hardship and worry had been washed away. And though he knew this was only a passing moment, he savored it nonetheless. Lee had taken over the burden of seeing to the patrols around the manor, and Bevaris knew what needed to be done along the river and docks. With these responsibilities in safe hands, Millet felt secure enough to allow himself just one carefree evening.

  It was truly good to have his former master home. And even though danger loomed, he was glad to be facing it surrounded by friends.

  Chapter 5

  Millet, Lee, Dina and Bevaris sat quietly around the fireplace. The second knight, Tristan, a younger though not inexperienced man, was with Jacob, Barty and Randson scouting the area around the house occupied by the faithful. The hired swords were patrolling the manor and keeping an eye on the docks and river. During the last two weeks they had spotted hundreds of river vessels flying the banner of Angrääl heading south. Every one of these had been packed with troops and machine
s of war.

  Millet was becoming anxious for the arrival of Linis. With each day that passed, the gnawing feeling of impending conflict increased. He looked up at Lee, who was sitting with his cup between his knees, eyes fixed on the flickering flames.

  “You are doing the right thing,” said Lee, feeling Millet’s stare. “It’s the only thing you could do.”

  “Don’t worry, my lord,” added Bevaris. “I have every confidence in Tristan. It will be clean and quick.”

  Millet glanced up at Dina, who nodded her agreement.

  A knock at the door made them all jump, prompting Lee and Bevaris to reach for their daggers. Dina calmly stood up and answered the door. It was Mayor Freidly. Dina invited him in and offered him a seat by the fire.

  “So tonight’s the night,” whispered the mayor.

  Millet nodded somberly. “Indeed it is, your honor.”

  Freidly looked around at the assembled group. “No offense, but I never imagined such a night in Sharpstone. Too much blood and hardship for my poor town. If we had known what they were about when they arrived we would never...”

  “Never what?” interrupted Lee. His tone was harsh. “Never allowed them to buy you like a cheap blanket? Never allowed them to make slaves of the people you swore to protect?”

  “That’s enough, Lee,” snapped Millet. “The mayor is here on my invitation, and you will show him courtesy.”

  Lee clenched his jaw for a moment but then relaxed. “Of course. Please forgive me.”

  Freidly’s face was flushed, but he seemed to be more in awe of the fact that Millet commanded Lee, than offended by Lee’s words. In fact, most of the town was still gossiping about this reversal of roles. “No need to apologize,” he said. “You’re right. I allowed this to happen.”

  “There was nothing you could have done,” said Millet. “If you’d resisted, you would have found yourself in an early grave.” His eyes fell on Lee. “And the people of Sharpstone have no experience with such evil men.”

  Lee sighed. “I know. But as you have told me all of my life, I allow my passions to govern me.” He stood and walked to the window. “It can sharpen my tongue if I’m not careful.”

  “You fear for your son?” remarked Bevaris.

  “I can’t help it,” affirmed Lee.

  “Tristan will keep him from harm,” Bevaris said confidently.

  Lee forced a smile and turned to the mayor. “See to it that all is ready. More and more soldiers pass this town each day. If they land here and we are defeated, you must ensure that the people comply with Angrääl.”

  Freidly nodded.

  It had been decided several days ago that, should Millet and the others be driven away, the people of Sharpstone would not continue to fight. Millet and Lee knew that they would be slaughtered. There was no time to build an adequate defense, and farmers and merchants would be of little use against hardened soldiers. Much better for them to be occupied and await liberation. Naturally, encouraged by what Millet had already achieved against the faithful, this was a bitter pill. But he had eventually convinced them of his wisdom.

  “Tell us, your honor,” said Dina, smiling girlishly. “What juicy gossip is there to be heard? Surely these things reach the mayor’s ears.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Freidly, taken aback. “You want to hear such things on an evening like this?”

  “I think it is the perfect time to hear gossip,” Dina replied.

  “I agree,” said Bevaris. “I miss the gossip and chatter of my own home. I would be reminded of such carefree days.”

  “And where is your home?” asked Freidly.

  “Xenthia,” he replied. “East, below the foothills of the Weeping Mountains.”

  “I’ve been there,” said Lee. “King Vistylis reigned at the time. He kept an estate as lavish as any in the west.”

  “His son Luccia still does,” said Bevaris. “He spends most of his time there, and has practically made it the new capital. He prefers the quieter atmosphere. The estate is now twice as opulent as his official palace in Nashis.”

  “A grand city also,” said Lee. “Though I have only ever seen the palace from outside the gates.”

  “Should we ever find ourselves there,” said Bevaris, “I can see to it that the king allows us entry.” He leaned back and took a sip from his cup. “Now, my good mayor, if you would be so kind as to lighten heavy hearts with the intrigues of your fair town.”

  Mayor Freidly bowed and began reporting the local gossip. The mood in the room lifted at once, and a few laughs were even heard. He had just got to telling them of how Naomi Sweetwater had caught her husband trying to seduce the wife of Jack Venturia, a pig farmer, when Tristan burst in.

  In contrast to Bevaris’ bull-like build, Tristan was tall and lean, and also quite handsome. His curly, blond hair fell nearly to his shoulders, and his chiseled features and ice blue eyes had already turned the head of more than one farmer’s wife. He was clad in a black shirt and pants, together with soft leather boots. On his belt hung a short sword and dagger; both hilts were spotted with blood.

  “What happened?” asked Bevaris.

  “It is done,” Tristan replied. “The faithful are dead.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” asked Lee.

  “No,” said Tristan. “But I have ill news. One of the townsfolk spotted us on our way back and told us they had seen a large number of men camped ten miles north of here.”

  This news brought the room to its feet.

  “Did he say how many?” asked Millet.

  “He thought it to be a hundred, maybe more,” replied Tristan. “He said he couldn’t tell in the dark and was afraid to get closer. I sent Randson and Jacob to find out more.”

  Millet could see a flash of anger on Lee’s face. He touched him on the shoulder. “Jacob will be fine. Randson knows the woods and trails better than anyone. And you’ve taught your son well.” He turned to Tristan. “Gather the men and send the workers to the Stedding farm.”

  “I should alert the town council,” said Freidly.

  Millet nodded. “But tell them not to do anything until we know more.”

  The mayor took a deep nervous breath and left.

  “Even if the count is accurate,” said Bevaris. “One hundred is too many unless you enlist the townsfolk.”

  “No,” shot back Millet. “I will not involve the people.”

  “But it may buy us time to gather more men,” Bevaris countered. “In a month we could...”

  “We have no guarantee it would buy that much time,” said Millet firmly. “Otherwise I would agree.”

  “There are no guarantees in war, my lord. Only risks.”

  “And it is a risk I am not willing to take.”

  “I think you are allowing your love of this town to cloud your judgment,” Bevaris told him.

  “Perhaps,” agreed Millet. “But if Sharpstone is lost, it is much better that we have living spies in an occupied town rather than see it destroyed. Better for the enemy to think they fought a rogue lord who stood against the will of the townsfolk, than perceive the entire town as a threat.”

  “But...” started Bevaris.

  “We have no time for this,” Lee snapped at the knight. “The lord of this house has spoken. We must prepare.”

  Bevaris sighed and shook his head. “Very well. Come Tristan. It is time we put our armor to use.”

  Bevaris and Tristan hurried to their room. A few minutes later they reappeared in polished black leather armor. Bevaris had his huge sword strapped across his back and a dagger hung on each hip. Tristan wore a long sword with a silver hilt crowned by a single black opal. Across his chest was a strap holding six small throwing knives.

  Tristan gathered the men in front of the manor while Bevaris readied the horses. About an hour before sunrise Jacob and Randson returned.

  Before Millet could open his mouth, Jacob spoke. “Two hundred men are on our heels. They’ll be here in minutes.”

  “Th
e sell-swords will flee,” said Bevaris.

  “Then don’t tell them,” said Lee. “From where do they approach?”

  “Half from the north,” Jacob replied. “The others have already circled around to the west.” The look of fear was in his eyes. “Father…there are Vrykol among them.”

  “How many?” asked Lee.

  “At least three,” he replied.

  Lee turned to Millet. “I think we should leave now.”

  There was a commotion outside. Millet went to the window. “That time is past,” he said. “They are here.”

  Silhouetted through the gate by the lamps at the entrance of the main yard stood a black-cloaked figure. Millet turned and picked up a short sword he had leaning against his chair.

  “Please,” said Lee. “Stay with me and Jacob. You may be a far better lord than I ever was, but a warrior you are not.”

  Millet smiled and grabbed Lee’s shoulder fondly. “If I am to face my end, it will not be cowering. And I don’t think that even you can protect me from two hundred soldiers.”

  “Then let us meet our end together,” said Lee. He walked over to Jacob and embraced him. “I’m sorry I have failed you. But I am honored to have known you, and I am proud you are my son.”

  Jacob squeezed his father tightly. “You have not failed me. I’m happy we will meet death side by side.”

  “We’re not dead yet,” said Dina. Her voice was steel. She wore a leather tunic over her tan cotton blouse and carried a long dagger in her right hand. “They face the son of Saraf and the knights of Amon Dähl. Even vastly outnumbered, such opponents are to be feared.”

  “Come then,” said Millet. “Let us make them pay dearly for their foolishness.”

  Millet had considered asking Dina to remain hidden, but one look at her face told him it would be useless to do so. Their fates were tied together, for good or ill.

  The group filed out into the yard. The sell-swords were clearly terrified, and Tristan was doing everything he could to keep them from fleeing. Only Barty and Randson remained steadfast.