by J. S. Morin
“How is that flattering, considering how it has turned out?” Brannis shot back. “If my ‘pedigree’ is so good, why should I not marry her? It was all approved, and I have never actually seen anything that says otherwise. Everyone just seems to have assumed it was all nullified when I left the Academy.”
“Would you like me to make a proclamation, Brannis? Shall I gather the Inner Circle and make sure everyone sees that we have followed protocol? By the winds, Brannis! They did it to spare your dignity, and your family’s. I have yet to unravel all the political nonsense the Inner Circle has engaged in, but I strongly suspect your father would have held up any new betrothal for Juliana Archon due to the embarrassment of having to admit you were deemed unsuitable.
“Now get hold of yourself, Brannis. Whatever this girl meant to you, it was nine winters ago and you need to put it past you. From everything Iridan has told me, you have no trouble finding women to share your bed, and why not? You have everything in your favor. Heroic young knight, just given command of the Imperial Army, good family, have the ear of the warlock. Take your pick of any woman in Kadrin and she would be yours. What nobleman would refuse you his daughter’s hand? What commoner would not be swept off her feet? Find some foreign princess to wed, and secure allies for the Empire. Choose a sorceress from an emergent bloodline if you wish; I assure you her family would be ecstatic to mix with Solaran blood, hoping your talent merely skipped a generation. But the ones in this book …” Rashan shook the genealogist’s tome for emphasis. “… are not for you.
“Kadrin has kept itself strong for thousands of summers by maintaining the strength of the Imperial Circle. I cannot allow the best of our young blood to be diluted. Strength begets strength. If I looked back through enough of these books, I could trace my own lineage back past the Founding.”
“I could do the same,” Brannis said. “A few generations back, it is even the same ancestors.”
“Brannis, there are a thousand others you can have, and a paltry handful denied to you. Why must you insist on being difficult? Do you wish to know why?” Rashan set down the book he had been holding and took another like it from the desk. He flipped through it to the last portion that had been filled in—leaving numerous blank pages in the yet unfinished volume—and flipped back a few pages. “Here. This is your reason.”
The entry stood out immediately: “Brannis Solaran. (F) Maruk Solaran, (M) Lyphaela Solaran (Sharniss),” the whole of which had been crossed out with a double line, accompanied by a notation in a different handwriting—“UNSUITABLE.” Brannis felt a chill in his gut and suddenly felt not quite well. He had known his status among the Circle had changed completely when he left the Academy, but somehow he had never fully accepted that he was forever cut out of their plans for the continuation of the bloodlines. The finality of those two thin lines passing through his name was like an iron door slamming shut and blocking off that part of his past.
Neither Brannis nor Rashan spoke for what seemed like hours, as Brannis stared numbly at the birthing records. He saw the names that shared the page with his; he recognized them all. They were his classmates, his friends, the girls he had once flirted with and the boys he had wrestled in the Academy’s courtyards. In the eyes of the Circle, they were valuable to the Empire, and he no longer was. What he had turned out to be, they had no use for and wanted no more of.
Rashan finally reached over and closed the book. “Now go prepare for your departure. Expect to leave in the morning. I have many preparations to make, not the least of which is selecting sorcerers to accompany you. Be at the palace at sunset for a late dinner, and I will gather everyone involved to discuss our plans. I would suggest you find a room at the palace for the night as well, so that you might leave as early as possible. The steward will be expecting you and ought to be able to manage something for you as for accommodations.”
“Why send sorcerers? Raynesdark will have a few of their own that can handle reinforcing wards and preparing fortifications. I would expect that in battle, any other sorcerers would be as much a hindrance to you as they would be an asset.”
“Because I do not intend to accompany you. If I meant to lead every battle for the Empire, I would have little need of you, Brannis. Because I have you, I feel I can trust that the battle will be well conducted without requiring my presence. In the meantime, I have much to do in getting the Empire back under control. I doubt what is said to my face bears much similarity to what they say behind warded doors. I will spend my time unraveling the knotted tangle of lies that obscures Kadrin politics these days.
“In truth, I think I would much enjoy the slaughter I am sending you off to commit in my place. If there were another who could run the Empire without causing further chaos, I would not hesitate to go. What I have done is bad enough, though, without handing the reins of the Circle and the regency over to yet another usurper.”
“Very well, then. I shall be at the army headquarters much of the day, learning what I can of Raynesdark’s defenses before departing,” Brannis said.
* * * * * * * *
As it turned out, Brannis’s offices at the army headquarters were neither in the stables nor the wine cellar. They had in fact given him a spacious suite with its own sitting room and a view overlooking Kalak Square. It was large enough to meet with half the senior officers stationed in Kadris at once, with a large oaken table upon which maps could be laid out, surrounded by high-backed chairs. There was a wide, polished oak desk over one hundred summers old that allowed its occupant to sit with his back to the panoramic view of not only the square but much of the city as well. Being on the uppermost floor of the building, it was high enough to see the palace over the surrounding buildings.
Brannis had taken advantage of the planning table to gather all the maps he could find regarding Raynesdark—or rather, that he could have underlings find and bring to him. Brannis was still growing used to the idea that he could give orders to literally anyone in the Imperial Army. He suspected that it would be some time before anyone quite respected him in his new position, but for the time being, the backing of the warlock was all the authority he needed. No one was yet certain just how Rashan intended to oversee the affairs of the army, or how much involvement he would have. Giving command over to a young knight of his own blood was—in their view at least—merely the first of many changes to come. The reputation of Rashan the Conqueror had never been connected with long periods of peace.
Rashan’s maps were several winters old, but Brannis worried little that the place had changed. Raynesdark had been built in the Empire’s younger days, when gold had been found in the Cloud Wall Mountains. Once the mines opened, the wealth it produced for the Empire allowed—and demanded—the construction of impressive fortifications. To the north side of the city, there had been a quarry since ages long past, providing massive stone blocks that constituted the city’s streets, walls, and fortresses. Smaller stones blocks were also produced, which were used in the construction of most of the city’s buildings.
As Raynesdark had once been a key to the Empire’s prosperity, the army had extensive diagrams of its defenses. Every tower, the keep, and the entirety of the fortress was mapped out in admirable detail. Brannis was torn as to whether he should have someone make copies for him but decided that there was just not enough time for someone to do a thorough job of it. He satisfied himself with going over them all himself and committing them to his formidable memory. Unless they had fallen into disarray in Raynesdark, he could reference their own records once he arrived, should he need to check any details.
Brannis had been going over the layout of the upper mines—once the lifeblood of the empire’s gold—when a junior officer interrupted him with a knock at the door and entered quietly.
”Sir Brannis. You had mentioned a dinner engagement at the palace tonight,” the officer said.
Brannis looked out the window of his new office and saw that the sun was sinking low in the sky. The light had waned on him so g
radually that he had not noticed.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed,” Brannis replied.
He left the diagrams and maps scattered about the table for his new underlings to deal with and made haste for the palace.
* * * * * * * *
Brannis arrived late for the dinner that Rashan had arranged. As the steward escorted him into the grand dining hall of the palace, he could see the other guests that Warlock Rashan had invited. Brannis had expected to see Iridan there and was not disappointed. He was impressed with the new uniform that had been fashioned on such short notice; it was nearly a copy of Rashan’s own, though Brannis suspected that the materials were far less exotic, and the epaulettes attached to his cloak were of shining steel, rather than gold. It was clear that Rashan intended to follow through with his stated goal of making Iridan into a warlock as well.
Iridan sat just to the right of Rashan, who was seated just to the right of the vacant head of the table. The emperor’s place setting was empty, likely to show that Rashan was merely regent and had no designs on the crown. The rest of the guests consisted of the remaining members of the Inner Circle, a small number of sorcerers he had not met: Lord Gellard Hallimere and his lady wife Chandelle, old Duke Benklear, and Shador Archon and his daughter, Juliana.
Brannis was fortunate that the palace’s formal dining hall could seat hundreds for a feast, and that the single long table set out seemed lost in the large room. It therefore took long enough for a porter to escort Brannis to the table that he was able to compose himself after the surprise of seeing Juliana. Had he been of a mind to try predicting the guest list, he might have seen the logic behind most of the guests seated around the table, but he had been rather preoccupied with military planning on his journey from the army’s headquarters to the palace.
The seat to the left of the vacant setting for the emperor was empty as well, and that was the seat to which the young porter brought Brannis. He was to be seated just two seats from Juliana, with only her father between them. As Brannis approached the table, conversations halted.
“And here he is, our new grand marshal. Brannis, I was just explaining to Duke Benklear why you will be taking over command of the army,” Rashan called out loudly enough for the whole table to hear as Brannis was being seated.
“I am not in favor of it, young sir,” Duke Benklear informed Brannis from halfway down the table.
Duke Benklear would tell anyone who cared to listen that he had seen over seventy-four autumns and that anyone who did not wish to hear his opinions could just wait until he died, at which point he promised to hold his tongue. The Benklears owned much of the land surrounding Kadris, and a fair amount of the city itself. Other than the palace itself, very little of the Empire belonged solely to the crown.
“Sir Hurald has done just fine, I think,” Benklear said. “Comes from as good a family as you will find among the commoners.”
“Your Grace,” Rashan said, “you will find that Sir Brannis has one of the finest military minds. Sir Hurald may be a fine administrator, but I do not think he will do as well by our troops in the field as Brannis would.”
“I must admit, it seemed a bit rash to me, as well,” Dolvaen said.
Brannis thought that it was a good sign that at least someone in the Inner Circle was willing to voice a dissenting view—even if it was in argument against his new position.
“Agreed,” added Lord Hallimere. “He has little experience. A few summers fighting on the northeast borders to keep back the ogre incursions, then a small scouting command that could not be called entirely successful.”
Lord Hallimere was technically Lord of Kadris. All functions of governing the city—those that the emperor did not wish to deal with personally—fell within his purview. While his personal holdings in the city were still considerable, House Benklear had a greater share of the city than the Hallimeres. Neither, however, held title to as much of the city as the Solarans. Between the Solarans, Archons, Gardaruses, Benklears, and Hallimeres, nearly all the land in the city was accounted for, and all others were their tenants.
“I have an eye for such things,” Rashan said. “I see more than you do, looking at the same events. I watch him think and plan, I have matched wits with him and lost. I have conquered kingdoms and advised emperors, and I have more blood on my hands than any of you have seen in a lifetime. I am an expert on the subject of war, and I tell you that I prefer Sir Brannis to lead my armies.”
Brannis could see the effect his words had all along the table. Except for Iridan, these people had not ridden with Rashan, not talked with him at any length. To them, he was history come to life—an ancient, mad demigod of war. He sounded so sure when he spoke, brooking no argument and citing experience at war that he knew none could call into question. Certainly the wisdom of his conquests could be rightly debated—and had been for a hundred winters—but the fact of them was indisputable.
“So then, tell us of this new threat from goblins to the west,” Shador said, seeming to be not entirely concerned with the affairs of the army.
“The expedition to Kelvie uncovered the incursion of goblin forces to our western territories,” Rashan said. “Word was sent to the Circle, but went unheeded, and now we have word that Illard’s Glen has fallen. We believe that they intend to press onward to Raynesdark with the intent to conquer and hold it. Should they succeed, they will be difficult to dislodge, as Raynesdark is built quite well for defense.”
“Would that not mean that the goblins will have difficulty attacking it in the first place?” Lord Hallimere asked, and there was a general muttering of agreement with his logic. “Certainly we ought to know how to defend it better than they would.”
“That might be the case, but we know that the goblins are no fools,” Brannis said. “They know better than to throw their forces at defenses that they cannot penetrate. We have reports that they have created new siege engines and tested them on the walls of Illard’s Glen, a town they could easily have taken anyway. Instead they crushed the wall into gravel just to see if they could. Raynesdark will face the same threat soon enough.” Brannis hoped he sounded as smart as Rashan made him out to be.
“What makes you certain that they are intent on Raynesdark?” asked Duke Benklear. The scrawny, bald old nobleman sat back and awaited an answer with folded arms.
“We have examined all the possible motives for the goblin campaign against us and concluded that they are intent on the Raynesdark mines,” Rashan answered. “I will not bore you with the details of our deliberations, but suffice it that we find no logical reason for them to take Illard’s Glen and nothing more, and had they intended to strike us farther south, the delay to take Illard’s Glen would have been pointless.”
“So what then? You mentioned having a plan,” Shador asked. “I am not normally privy to war council. Tell me why we are here tonight.”
“Well, firstly, I had wished to congratulate you and formally announce the betrothal of my son to your daughter.” There were looks of surprise around the table, but no one spoke out. “Iridan.” Rashan motioned for him to stand, and the new member of the Inner Circle got up from his chair, resplendent in his black warlock’s robes. “Juliana.” He motioned to the young sorceress and she complied. She was wearing the plainer black robes befitting her position in the Sixth Circle, cinched tightly around her slender waist.
She looked much the same as Brannis remembered her, though he had avoided seeing her the past few summers. She still had the same long reddish-gold hair, and her figure seemed to have never fully finished filling out. The fire he was used to seeing in her eyes seemed muted, and she looked a bit self-conscious with the attention of the rest of the attendees on her. She looked around a bit as she stood there, and when she turned to look his way, Brannis quickly averted his gaze to avoid making eye contact with her. In doing so, he happened to notice that Iridan looked a bit nervous with the attention as well.
“We are in no rush,” Rashan said. “There w
ill be time for festivities come springtime, with better omens for a marriage. We shall toast a renewed alliance between House Solaran and House Archon.”
And with that, everyone at the table stood and raised their wine goblets. There was a general chorus of agreement with the sentiment, though Brannis thought he could make out some sarcastic comment from Lord Hallimere about how little support House Solaran seemed to need these days.
After the toast, they all resumed their seats, with the soon-to-be couple looking relieved to rejoin the rest of the diners.
“And now to the more pressing business,” Rashan said. “I feel that we need to dispatch aid to Raynesdark in advance of the expected invasion. I have heard two sentiments tonight that I have agreed with. The first is that Raynesdark ought to be able to hold out, as the city’s defenses are indeed formidable. The second is that goblins are clever little vermin and know better than to attack with no plan to overcome those defenses.
“Since the city ought to be able to defend itself, and the goblins clearly have thought of some clever way to change that, I am sending Grand Marshal Brannis over there to match wits with them and counter whatever gambit they intend.”
“You really think that sending this boy over there is going to change the course of a battle?” asked Duke Benklear. “If so, I think you are daft. I know Duke Pellaton, and if some unscarred little knight shows up at his castle gates demanding to take over command of his army, he shall have him in chains. I would do the same if I had a goblin army camped in my back garden and some fool came around trying to give me orders.”
“In that case, I expect you will approve of my decision to send along a few of the Circle to lend him aid. There will be no confusion over who is in command. Iridan will be going as well. He has experience in battle, and I have given him some advice that ought to help him as well.” Rashan paused, as if awaiting objections, then continued when there were none: “I am also sending Ruuglor Megaren, Second Circle, and Faolen Sarmon, Fourth Circle. They have both proven themselves to be competent and have accepted this assignment voluntarily.”