“Apart from being three sizes too big, filthy, and worn out? Why, nothing at all. Still, I can’t have you walking around down here like that. Everyone will think I starve my children! No, no, no, I can’t have that.”
“All right. If I have to then I have to... but I can wash myself!”
“Well of course,” Ranulf said scornfully. “I’m not in the habit of bathing grown men!”
Connell nodded once and followed Tor to the bathhouse.
Ranulf sighed. “By the God, how many more like him are still hiding from me?”
“Father Ran?”
Ranulf sighed again and turned toward the newcomer. “I’m not a priest, boy!” He said as Del stepped into the common room. Del was a comely lad. Whenever he saw the boy, he just knew that in a few years he would look like a lord. He already acted like one with the other children. They followed where he led just as a guardsman follows his lord. “What have you there?”
“Pella, Father Ran,” Del said showing him the contents of the sack. “Bainbridge gave me two dozen for a copper.”
“Two dozen! He always was a fool with his money.”
Del grinned and offered a palm full of coins to Ranulf. “Here’s what I have left.”
Ranulf waved the money away. “Keep it for me, would you lad? I’m late for my visit with Gy. Besides, you’ll need it when you go out tomorrow.”
“If you’re sure, Father Ran. I won’t spend none of it.”
“Of course not, lad. You know I trust you. You’re like my own son. All of you are.”
Del stood taller.
“Tor came in a short while ago. Another group of little ones has come to join us.”
“I told you they would come, Father Ran,” Del said smugly.
“So you did, lad, so you did.” Ranulf fetched his cloak from where it hung near the door. “I might be gone awhile. Look after the old place for me.”
“I will, Father Ran. You can count on me.”
“I always do!” Ranulf called over his shoulder as he left the inn.
* * *
King Gylaren read the report with eyes burning for the need of sleep. By the God he was tired. Tired of never-ending bad news, tired of forever having to cajole his lords into doing their duty as they ought, tired of the same old petty excuses.
“By the God, how did I ever let her talk me into this?”
“My lord?” Ranulf questioned.
“Julia,” Gylaren said dropping the parchment upon his desk and leaning back. “Why did I let her talk me into this?”
“Into...?”
“The throne.”
“Ah,” Ranulf said, smiling in amusement. “Perhaps she used her magic upon you, my lord. She is rumoured to be powerful.”
“Oh she’s powerful all right, and in more ways than one. I can attest to that. I told you of the time she raised the ferry above the lake. There were a few surprised faces that day I can tell you!”
Ranulf chuckled. “I remember you telling me of it, but what of this other way in which she is powerful?”
“Her temper I meant. You must know that I never wanted the throne, my friend.”
“I do know, but you’re the best King we could have in these days.”
Gylaren snorted. “That’s good of you to say, but the only reason I’m King is that Julia could find no one else. That’s what I meant about her temper. The voting was going badly for us. It looked as though Ascol might win the throne, but unknown to me, Julia had already taken steps. When I found out she was scheming to make me the next King, I visited her apartments to tell her to stop.”
“And she was angry?”
“Very,” Gylaren said dryly. “She accused me of being a blind fool... well, as good as. I thought she would kill me when I told her to keep out of affairs that did not concern her.” He shrugged. “It was at that meeting that I realised I had no choice. I took the throne because Julia wouldn’t make Keverin do it, and Purcell was out of the question of course. So apart from me, who was left?”
“Lord Halden?”
“A worthy man, but old. Too old to put right the mess that Pergann, may the God comfort him, left us to deal with. No, she was right... she is right. It is my duty, but I miss the mountains. I miss my home.”
“Devarr is your home, my lord.”
Gylaren shook his head. “Not so. Devarr will never be home. There is only Meilan for me, but my duty holds me. Dylan likes it here though. A lucky thing wouldn’t you say?”
Ranulf nodded. “He will make a fine King after you.”
“I believe he will. I believe he will indeed.”
Dylan had taken to Devarr as if born to it. A lucky thing. He was heir to the throne and Deva did not need another unhappy King such as Pergann had been. Deva needed time to come back from the disaster Pergann created with twenty years of misrule.
Gylaren realised that he was wool-gathering. Now was not the time for it. “Your news is not all bad I trust?”
“It’s good mostly, my lord. I have my friends keeping their noses to the wind as you asked, but they report all quiet. Everyone is happier now that you have control of the streets. Food is abundant, and prices have returned to normal.”
“Hoarding?”
“Has stopped, my lord. You cannot blame them for fearing a return to the dark times of last year, but they seem to have let that particular fear go.”
“But?” Gylaren said. He was sure there must be one.
“But the news of Keverin’s death has everyone unsettled.”
The news had been all the more shocking for it had come upon the heels of celebration. The report that Julia’s kidnappers had met their end at the hands of Camorshin clansmen had caused great celebration through the city. Everyone loved Julia for what she had done for them. The celebrations lasted days, but then came the shocking news of Keverin’s death. Worse, he had died fighting an invading force of Hasian sorcerers. The news had sent panic through the streets as every rumour was enlarged upon until the invaders became an unbeatable force camped less than a league away.
“You have started the counter I suggested?”
Ranulf nodded. “I have my lord. My little whisperers have helped somewhat—more than some if truth be known, but rumours will spread no matter what my boys do.”
“They always do my friend.”
Ranulf’s children were not truly his. Magda, Ranulf’s wife, had died childless of a fever. Those Ranulf termed ‘his boys’ were actually orphans of Pergann’s misrule. They were homeless boys and girls that had lost their families to the chaotic years preceding Julia’s arrival at the capital. Ranulf had taken in a few strays, and on Julia’s say so, he had taken more until his inn was no longer an inn. It was more an orphanage than a place to sit and drink ale. The change was good for Ranulf who had still been grieving over Magda’s death. He still was of course. He would never find another woman like Magda, and he did not want to.
Gylaren frowned. Thinking of Ranulf’s boys brought Julia’s hospital to mind. It was something he would have been happy to finance and support. It was the first of many that Julia had planned for the lords to finance. Although a tax had been considered, the Church that would have to maintain them. His failure to persuade the lords at council to pay a tax had led to the Holy Father’s intervention. Farran had proposed that the Church fund the hospitals, and lacking support from his lords, Gylaren could only agree. That lack of support on so many important issues had led to many sleepless nights.
“The people will settle down when the western lords arrive,” Gylaren said, trying to convince himself.
“But they haven’t yet,” Ranulf warned.
Gylaren grimaced. “Young Adrik came in yesterday.”
“Ascol?” Gylaren nodded. “That’s good news, but what of the others?”
Gylaren gestured at the report he had been reading. “I have most of the southern lords encamped here at Devarr. Adrik and one or two from the Western marches have come in, but not enough.”
It had been a di
sappointing response but not a surprise. He knew all of his lords, of course, but many of the southerners were friends or friends of friends. He had known from the first that he could count on the southrons, but the lack of support from the west was a harsh blow. If Keverin had been alive, his mere presence would likely have brought them in, but he was lying in his grave. Those who looked to Athione to lead the way had adopted a wait and see attitude that could spell disaster for the entire kingdom.
“I told Purcell to make ready to join us at the border. He has things well in hand. The others will protest, but they will obey him.”
“They would be fools to affront him after what his son did for them. Corlath died to protect them. Donalt nearly did also. Elvissa could have fallen, and would have but for the God’s good blessings.”
“Stubbornness is the only reason that the fortress held for so long. Purcell’s men are too woodenheaded to give way, even when out-numbered five to one. We have Purcell himself to thank for that, and I do—I assure you I do. I tell you my friend, since taking the throne my eyes have been opened to foolishness of every kind. Some of what they do still astounds me. Men, whom under other circumstances I would have called intelligent, act in the most absurd ways when called upon to levy guardsmen. Just yesterday I received a messenger from Lethbridge asking that he be excused from the war!”
“What for?”
“He writes that his guardsmen are needed to help bring in the harvest! Since when does a farmer need help with that from a soldier?” Gylaren snorted in disgust. “Lethbridge is not the only one either. I need my western lords, Ranulf. I need them badly.”
Ranulf nodded. “Can you not order Athione to march?”
“I can, and I will, but what point in ordering Marcus to Devarr when he will straight away march north with us?”
“This Captain Marcus will not be heeded by the western lords,” Ranulf warned. “I’m unused to examining a lord’s motives, Gy, but it seems to me that you need a new Lord Protector in the West. They would surely rally to him and march north when he does.”
“They should,” Gylaren agreed. “But I doubt it will work out that way. They’re more intent on avoiding their duty to the kingdom than doing the sensible thing. Besides, I can’t raise Marcus so easily as that. Athione is too important. No matter how good a guardsman Marcus is, he’s one thing more—a commoner.”
“Give Athione to Gydrid then. He seemed like an intelligent boy to me.”
Gylaren smiled. “He is that, but I can’t give Athione to him. Niklaus holds Meilan, Dylan will hold Devarr and the throne after me. I cannot give Athione to Gydrid without seeming to be parcelling out Deva to my sons. The lords will accuse me of trying to take all power into my own hands.”
“Might not be a bad idea. At least you want to oppose the Hasians. It seems to me the lords would let them take Deva… at least as long as the sorcerers allow them to keep their own lands.”
“It’s not so bad as that,” Gylaren said, though it did seem so on occasion. “The north will fight. Jihan is a strong example. The south is mine, and Purcell will drag the east into it—kicking and screaming if need be. He’ll not take any nonsense. It’s the west that’s uncertain…”
“Forgive me for saying so, Gy, but the west has more lords than the others. They will account for more in this war than you give them credit for... or they will when they do their duty.”
Gylaren heard what went unsaid. If they did their duty—if they rallied to him. It was a cursed big if! He was confident that the southrons would follow wherever he led. There was not a hint of a doubt in his mind. As for the others, well, he was not so confident, but Jihan and Purcell were both fine men. They would do everything in their power to help, and they had a big advantage in tradition. The Four were created to protect Deva, with the lord protectors to hold them and lead the other lords into battle. It was their traditional role, and one that few would question. Men like Jihan were born to lead and protect those less able than himself. The lords might resent the fact, but they were not strong enough to change it.
“What will you do?” Ranulf said.
“Wait a while longer I think. I’ll march without them if needs must. I’ll collect as many as I can on my way north, but I swear to you my friend, that if I survive this war, those who failed their duty to me will rue it.”
Ranulf nodded. “Maybe Julia will save us the trouble.”
Gylaren smiled tiredly. “She has enough to do.”
* * *
11 ~ Lord of Dragons
The first indication of trouble War Leader Methrym received was a vague report of the enemy massing for an attack in or around Lushan. A scout, who had been too excited to watch and ascertain just what they would be facing, had delivered the report. He was little more than the farm boy he had been a few short seasons earlier.
Methrym dispatched a force of experienced men to accompany the boy back to ascertain what the situation really was. When they didn’t return in reasonable time, Methrym thought to send Soren and his men to investigate, but he became distracted by another report this time from the west; a patrol ambushed and destroyed by a force where none should be. He sent Soren in command of a thousand of his very best men to flush out the Japuran scum, and forgot about the rumour from the direction of Lushan. It wasn’t until a dazed and bloodied Soren returned minus most of his men, that Methrym realised something out of the ordinary was happening.
“Halt here,” Methrym ordered as he kicked his horse into a brief gallop. Behind him, his signaller sounded his cornet.
Rah-ta-ta-rah! Rah-ta-ta-rah!
“What happened?” Methrym shouted as he brought his horse violently to a stop beside his cousin.
“I don’t know,” Soren mumbled, blinking dazedly. There was a cut above his eye and dried blood on his face. A dent decorated his helmet near the rim testifying to how close Soren had come to kneeling before the God. “They came out of nowhere. We didn’t know they were there until too late.”
“Who? You didn’t know who were there?”
“I don’t know I said! They wore black—”
Methrym’s breath froze. “Hasians?”
Soren shook his head. “Not black robes, black armour. Metal armour and helmets with gold cheek pieces. I’ve never seen anyone fight like they did.” Soren’s eyes sharpened. “They could have killed us easily cousin, but they let us go.”
Methrym’s eyes narrowed at that. “From what direction do they come?”
“South and east.”
“Lushan?”
Soren blinked. “Didn’t you send someone out that way?”
Methrym nodded and cursed silently. “They didn’t come back.”
“They won’t be back, cousin.”
Methrym agreed. “Get yourself cleaned up. That cut needs seeing to.”
“But what are we going to do about these tin men?”
“They can die can’t they?”
“All men die.”
Methrym looked back at his army for reassurance. “I will deal with them as I’ve dealt with all those sent against me.”
Soren nodded, but doubtfully. “When you see them, cousin, I hope you remember those words.”
Methrym had already turned away and dismissed his cousin’s concerns without a thought. He rode back to where Lorenz and the rest of his captains awaited him. He gave them an edited version of events and then issued new orders. Their destination was still Lushan, but the three columns of his army would separate earlier than planned. He still wanted to attack Lushan from three sides at once, but now he felt a little stealth might be in order. Methrym decided to lead the main thrust up the centre of the valley in the open to draw the enemy’s attention, while Lorenz made use of the ridgeline on his right flank to manoeuvre unseen. Soren was no longer fit for the coming battle, so Methrym delegated the responsibility of a similar manoeuvre on the left flank to Captain Hollis.
Terriss watched the proceedings suspiciously. “What now are you doing?”
Methrym shrugged. “What I set out to do, nothing more. I want you and Nisim’s people on my left. Will you follow?”
Terriss considered for a moment in silence, perhaps trying to foresee how this new plan could be turned against him. Borderers were suspicious people. With their history, Methrym knew they were right to feel that way.
“I will follow.”
Methrym nodded. “Good. I want each column underway before nightfall.”
There were nods of agreement and then they broke up, each to return to his men. Methrym watched his captains give their orders and tried to foresee what could go wrong. He snorted. The things that could go wrong in war were infinite. They always were. This battle would be no different.
But it was different.
* * *
The exultant roar of a dragon shattered the silence over the sleeping camp and High Lord Teirnon paused to listen. A moment later, dozens of dragons joined Boldizar in his greeting of the new day. It was something Teirnon never tired of hearing. He sometimes envied Malik and his people for their intimacy with the huge creatures. Malik was a Camorshin warrior and a dragon rider. His people lived almost cheek by jowl with the dragons in the mountain valleys of Tindebraisha.
“Boldizar is in fine voice this morning,” Malik said.
“His mating flight went well then?” Teirnon asked. Chephzibah was Boldizar’s mate and Malik was her rider.
Malik grinned. “Very well, High Lord. Chephzibah’s scales were glowing when she came back.”
Teirnon chuckled. “Tell me, have you considered asking her to take you to Camorin? It is where our peoples came from. I admit that I’m curious to see it.”
Malik shook his head. “I’m not. There are no mountains there. All that emptiness…” Malik shuddered at the thought. “It might suit you Tamorshin with your fondness for farming, but we Camorshin need our mountains.”
Teirnon shrugged. Camorshin and Tamorshin had common ancestors in those that had accompanied the dragons to Tindebraisha from the Camorin plains, but Malik was right, they were no longer the same. Tamorshin were far more numerous and had spread all across the continent. The Camorshin were far fewer and lived with the dragons in the mountains and valleys. It wasn’t just where they lived that made them different. It was their entire outlook. The Tamorshin lived for exploration and adventure, but the Camorshin cared for nothing but their valleys and of course the dragons. Teirnon envied Malik his ability to fly with Chephzibah, but it seemed a waste not to use it to see new things. There was nothing new to see in Tindebraisha and nothing to conquer. Unlike Waiparisa, all of the peoples of Tindebraisha were united under one rule—that of Empress Marzina, but here everything was new.
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