Respectant

by Florian Armaselu

  Down in the valley, Manuc shook his head, trying to understand the maneuver. What is Nicolas doing? he thought. Clewin had misled him, not revealing that Codrin led the army. He wants to kill Clewin. After I take Peyris, I will not keep Clewin at my court. He is the Circle’s man. If he dies in battle... “Send a courier to Clewin. He must attack now. Send a courier to the right wing. They should move out in front of the infantry. I want to catch Nicolas between my army and that small ridge on the left.” And I want Clewin dead. I did not ask them to betray Nicolas.

  Clewin only advanced when more than half of Codrin’s cavalry had already turned west after their strange detour. He was wary of being in the vanguard and tried to delay his attack. When he finally understood that Peyris was running away, Clewin pushed his horse to a gallop, followed by his three hundred men. The last ranks of Codrin’s riders were turning west and Clewin was only two hundred paces away from them. He frowned, seeing that two soldiers had stayed behind the retreating riders, and then he recognized Codrin. “Kill those men!” he shouted at the people around him, pointing at Codrin and Vlad. He had to turn his troop slightly to the right, to meet them. The delay was not long, only fifteen seconds.

  Calmly, Vlad nocked his bow and turned in the saddle, to look back, guiding the horse with his knees. “I see Clewin.” He tensed his bow and waited. When the traitor was sixty paces away, he released his arrow. Without looking, he pushed his horse to a gallop. Clewin’s horse neighed in protest as the rider jerked backward and was nearly swept under its sharp hooves.

  “Fine shot. You hit him in the neck,” Codrin said.

  Codrin’s and Vlad’s Arenian horses were fast, but it took time to get to full speed. Six of Clewin’s men were close, the rest spread out behind them like a paper fan. The six closed the distance: forty paces, thirty. They shouted and spurred their horses. Twenty paces, and they were whooping confidently now, sure they would catch them.

  The Arenian horses came to full speed and started to gain distance. Feeling that their prey was escaping, Clewin’s riders shouted their frustration. Codrin glanced to his right and saw the archers on the ridge, ready to shoot. A few moments more, he thought, and the first arrow flew with his last word. Two more volleys followed, and their pursuers chose to stay alive, running back. Codrin and Vlad vanished into the forest.

  Clewin was not dead when the soldiers brought him, on a stretcher, to Manuc; Vlad’s arrow had not struck the center; it was closer to the side of the neck, but the jugular vein was open. He will not survive, the Duke thought. “Call a healer to take care of him. We will camp here. They have probably all gone, but send a hundred men to clear the ridges of archers.”

  Nicolas was the first man Codrin spoke with. “I trusted him. We played together when we were children. We hunted together. Why did he betray us?” Bitter and sad, Nicolas shook his head.

  “He must have killed Emich too.”

  “I lost a good friend, because of my weakness.” His voice was a barely audible whisper.

  “You tried to help Cleyre. How much does Clewin know about my trap?”

  I need to pull myself together, Nicolas thought. The real battle has not yet started. “Less than me, and I don’t know much either. Do you think...?”

  “Vlad killed him, but I don’t know what Clewin said to Manuc. They did not have much time, though. Let’s hope that my trap works; if not we will have to let them reach Peyris and lay siege. That will make Cleyre look weak.” And it will take time. There will be no way to attack Orban and free Jara, before the bad weather comes. Fate.

  ***

  The scouts from Loxburg were in good spirits, a feeling the whole army shared. Peyris had lost three hundred soldiers through desertion and had been routed almost without a fight. Only eighteen men had died, killed by the hidden archers, and none of them was from Loxburg. Clewin had died too, but Manuc was not mourning for him. A team of scouts was on its way toward the southern ridge overlooking the valley. There was another team on the northern ridge. It was an easy path, and the valley did not look menacing at all. It was relatively wide. The southern and northern ridges were only ten feet tall at most. In some places, there was no ridge at all, only a moderately steep slope from the plateau surrounding the valley. It was not difficult for the horses to negotiate it, both up and down. The scouts rode around a natural formation that looked like a tower, fifty feet tall and two hundred feet in diameter, guarding the entrance to the valley. There was another one, shorter, across the entrance. The leader scanned the tower on his side: no horse could climb it. He started when a horn blew, three times, somewhere to the north. He dismounted in front of what looked like a path toward the top, and walked for some fifty paces. The path was blocked by a fallen tree, which had died a few years ago.

  “Nothing here,” he said and mounted again. One of his men blew three times on a small horn, and Manuc’s army moved into the valley. For the second time that day, the scouts went along the ridge; they already had passed that way in the morning, but then they had ridden faster to check the end of the valley. This time, they moved just a little ahead of the army. The western end of the valley was almost identical to the eastern; it was as if nature wanted to create a pattern. The leader dismounted again and walked around the tower. This time, he found no path leading up. The tower was abrupt and tall, like a wall. He mounted and glanced back: the vanguard was almost at the towers, ready to leave the valley.

  From his position, Boldur observed the scouts at leisure. He could have killed them easily, but he did not reach for his bow, hanging on a stub of the old tree. This is my easiest battle ever. The only thing I have to do is use my axe twice. He poked his head out through the dense foliage, following the scouts riding away. They will be dead soon. He moved back and waited patiently. Five minutes later, a small white flag waved. Few could see it. Standing on a thick branch, sixty feet above the ground, Boldur was one of them. No one from the valley or from the ridges could see the flag. Let’s do it. He cried three times like an owl, a signal he had learned from Vlad, and rubbed his palms together, before taking up the axe. He cut once at his feet, and a second time slightly above his head. Thump, thump, that was the only sound. The ropes reared like two swift snakes, with the sound of a giant popping cork. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then a crack followed, and another thump, thump, a hundred feet from him. Now, I wait. Boldur put down the axe away and took up his bow.

  Cut most of the way through the day before, and kept in place by the ropes, the huge beech tree on Boldur’s right inclined slightly, then more, until it fell on the next tree in line, then onto the ground, the sound of its fall thundering through the forest. Like in a giant domino, another massive tree fell with each thump; and another, and another. Down in the valley, the soldiers halted in confusion and the horns sounded the alarm. Unsheathing their swords, shaking their spears, they looked around, their heads moving left and right, trying to spot the enemy. They saw only falling trees, everywhere around them.“Ghosts!” some of them cried. Feverishly, they touched their amulets and raised their left hands, fingers large spread, to attract one of Fate’s many eyes. It makes sense to be in touch with her before the battle; when it ends, only the dead stir her attention. You won’t want that. Soon, they realized that there was no immediate danger from the falling trees; they had been cut down only to block the route out of the valley for horses, in the places without a ridge. While Codrin was facing Manuc, the day before, another group of a hundred Mountes had arrived under the command of Boldur’s cousin Dragos. With almost two hundred men under his command, Boldur had cut more trees than Codrin had requested. Hypnotized, the soldiers continued to watch, their heads turning to the next fallen tree. The last fell where the trees were to block the extremities of the valley. Manuc found his army cut into three parts. He was already out of the valley with five hundred riders. The infantry was caught in the valley with a thousand more riders. The rest of his army had not had time to enter the valley. The infantry began to force th
eir way out of the trap, through the dense branches of the fallen trees. They were able, with a struggle, to take their halberds, but the long spears were left behind. The first volley of arrows came from the towers when they were still climbing through the thick branches. After the second volley, they fell back into the valley, hiding behind the fallen trees. The third volley, coming from the towers and ridges, hit the riders, and they moved toward the center of the valley, giving up even the thought of trying to force an exit. They dismounted and placed the horses in front of them.

  “Move away from the ridges!” Manuc shouted, and pushed his horse to a trot. “Faster.”

  “Sir,” one of his Knights said, and Manuc turned only because of the fear in the man’s voice.

  “Prepare for battle!” Manuc cried and unsheathed his sword. From the forest in front, Codrin’s riders had appeared. “Well,” Manuc whispered to himself, “Peyris is as good a grave as any other. There is no shame dying in battle, but falling into this trap is not the proudest legacy.”

  The front ranks clashed, but to Manuc’s surprise, the incoming riders did not press his men hard; they herded them into a tight group. Men still fell, here and there, and soon, his remaining riders were pressed as tightly together as the sand in an hourglass.

  “Manuc, surrender!” Nicolas shouted, forty paces away from him.

  I have never surrendered before. Well, there is a first time for everything. “Lower my banner,” Manuc said to the soldier behind him. “I surrender!” he shouted. “Volker, sing that bloody song, they are still fighting in the valley; then go and tell everybody what has happened.”

  Shame in his eyes, the captain pressed the horn to his mouth. Three long notes filled the valley, then two short ones and another long one. Codrin’s soldiers moved away, their ranks opening like two hard jaws, and the space between the army grew slowly. Nicolas and Manuc advanced and arrived face to face.

  “You toothless toad,” Manuc said. “Since when did you have the brains to lay such trap for me?”

  “Since you had the brains to fall into it,” Nicolas grinned, and they clasped hands.

  “It’s a pity. What is it like to kiss Albert’s greasy hand? Such a strong Duke.”

  “I have no idea. I kiss a lady’s hand, and the only pity is that I can’t do it more often.”

  “Did he marry? Are you sure that she is a lady? A toad would be a better match for Albert. Don’t ask me to kiss her hand too.”

  A scout approached Nicolas. “They are going after Clewin’s men.” He pointed toward a troop of six hundred riders, led by Codrin. “Our scouts found them riding north.”

  “Clewin is dead,” Manuc said.

  “I know. Let’s talk.” Nicolas took Manuc by the arm, and they walked away. “Cleyre is the new Duchess of Peyris.”

  “That little girl? She has more brains than all the surviving offspring of Stefan put together. I wish I had known. I came here after Albert. Well, I suppose I will meet her soon. How did she...?”

  “She has good allies.”

  Manuc turned, checking the colors of the soldiers around him. “Dorna I recognize, even when they were supposed to join my army, but whose is that banner?” He pointed at a black raven on a pale yellow background.

  “You will meet him soon. He set the trap for you, not me. A tall man, dressed in black, wearing two swords,” Nicolas said mysteriously.

  “You always liked riddles. Is he the man I saw in our first battle? Well, almost a battle.”

  ““Yes, that’s him. And Dornan is dead.”

  “Then I can consider myself lucky. Did Clewin know about Cleyre?” Manuc looked at Nicolas, who nodded. “The bastard, he did not tell me.”

  “We send a delegation to inform you. They were killed on the road. Clewin,” Nicolas spat. “Clewin’s men killed Emich.”

  “We found a Fate’s banner on the road and wondered who would do such a thing. Emich was a good Knight. I am sorry for your loss. Clewin worked for the Circle.”

  “I know.”

  “I suppose then, that I must pay homage to Cleyre. How many men do you want me to send home? There is no need for you to feed them all.”

  “Yes, you will. It’s up to you if you want to kiss her hand or not.”

  “I would kiss more than her hand. What a pity that I am so old. She would have made a perfect Duchess of Loxburg.”

  “I am afraid that her hand is taken.”

  “Well, such ladies are quick to find a husband. They are in high demand.” That man with two swords must be the new Duke. “So, how many soldiers?”

  “We have some use for your cavalry. You can send home the infantry.”

  Clewin’s deserters had the bad luck to use a road parallel to the valley and the trap. They met Codrin at a crossroads. The fight was short; they were disorganized and ran for their lives in all directions. That was their good luck, as Codrin could not surround them. He adapted quickly and pursued Clewin’s deputy, disarming him in a one-to-one fight, and took ten more prisoners.

  He arrived in Peyris less than half an hour after Nicolas and Manuc.

  Chapter 21 – Codrin / Cleyre

  “Cleyre, what a delight to see you again. You have grown into a beautiful woman. Last time I came in Peyris there was a little girl listening to stories on my knee. How old were you then? Thirteen? Who would have thought that little Cleyre would become the Duchess of Peyris?” Manuc asked. Some in the council chamber perceived subtle mockery in his words, reacted with brows arched over angry eyes, and even Nicolas considered intervening.

  At sixty-five, Manuc was tall and muscular and looked almost middle-aged, although his face, with its high, wrinkled forehead and wide-open eyes, betrayed his age. His hands were huge and calloused from the sword, and he was dressed in a dark green suit, accentuating his lean body. There was something of the joker about him, but it was a foolish man who would laugh at him; his unruly brows and his tall, straight body spoke of a hard center. As did his keen, metallic blue eyes.

  Cleyre smiled and stood up, as he walked toward her. “You came to see that little girl again. How considerate of you. I hope to be a good host, and I still like to hear stories.”

  Manuc opened his arms, and to everybody’s surprise, he embraced Cleyre, who reciprocated.

  “I hope so too, niece, but it would be a lie to say that I came here to see you. I came to see that beacon of wisdom named Albert,” Manuc said, stirring laughter in the room. She was not his niece, but he used to call her that. He still liked to say it, and she liked it too. “Where is he? Hiding in the cellar? Preserved for posterity in jail? Tell me.”

  “Hiding in Amiuns.”

  “Not for long, I suppose. They have bad weather there, cold and rainy. I fear for his rheumatism. Where is Reymont?”

  “In Amiuns, too. Story time now. What were you planning?”

  “Whatever it was, it’s not going to happen. Why stir up the past? Let’s see what kind of future we can make now. I am, let’s say, standing on the edge of unknown terrain.”

  “You know I like good stories, and even more so if they are true.”

  “Well, I came to find a wife for my son. He really needs a good woman; you know what I mean.”

  “Do you have someone in mind?” Cleyre asked. “Maybe I can help you.” Her blue eyes glittered, her quick, intelligent face lit with amusement, and she sat again, nodding at him.

  “I doubt that you will divorce just for my lovely son.” Manuc shrugged, and his lips twitched in dry humor. Alof was his last son still living, the youngest one, and the one who had inherited few qualities from his father. Both Stefan and I were cursed by Fate; our best sons died in battle, the worthless survived. “It would have been a good political solution though,” he sighed, and seated himself next to Cleyre.

  “Did you agree this with Octavian?” Codrin spoke for the first time. He was standing in front of the window, leaning back on it.

  “Ah, the lucky husband of our Duchess,” Manuc said, and his eye
s were amused, half-concealed by the mocking droop of his eyelids. “There was a plan. Two, in fact. Up to a point, my plans and the Circle’s were similar. My plan was to unify the Duchies. Once Stefan died, I found myself thinking that Cleyre has enough intelligence for two people and two Duchies. They did not like that at first. They accepted it in the end. Or rather, Octavian’s lips said the words, but they had something else in mind. Don’t ask me what. I don’t know. I played my game. I lost. What’s your game, Duke of Peyris?”

  “You are asking the wrong man.”

  Manuc blinked at him for a moment, then cocked his brows up, turning toward Cleyre. “My dear niece, indulge the curiosity of an old man. I thought this strange man, who sets many traps and speaks little, to be your husband and the Duke of Peyris. It seems that I am wrong.”

  “You are. My husband is not here, but he will arrive soon.”

  “If you found someone stronger than this fellow, I can’t wait to meet him.”

  “There is no one stronger than Codrin, but Costa is both strong and kind.”

  “So, you are the young wolf,” Manuc said thoughtfully, looking at Codrin. “Strange, I have the impression that we have met before. I am not so old I should forget such a thing, yet I don’t remember.”

  “Yes, we have met, but I was the Wraith of Tolosa at that time.”

  “Ah, then my brain is not so rotten. The Wraith was a strong man by himself. It would be interesting to learn how you could squeeze two strong men into that skull of yours, it doesn’t look any larger than mine, but you don’t seem to like talking. So, niece, what plans have you for me?” He turned toward Cleyre, his mouth curled up in a witty smile.