At that moment, Aniri attracted the prince’s attention and Ukasur’s hand lightly fell on Launette’s. She leaned towards him. “Do not worry, brother. He is all talk, or so I have heard,” she whispered. “He’s incapable of arousal, by all accounts.”
“And I thought it was a good match! Do you still wish to go ahead with the wedding?”
“I have my reasons. Besides, I will see to it that he gets rid of that belly, and then perhaps he will rediscover his potency.”
“His lack is recent, then?”
“Apparently. It is hard to know, I bend an ear to murmurs from the serving staff. Sorting truth from conjecture is not easy.”
He patted her hand. “So long as you are happy about the arrangement.”
“Happiness has nothing to do with it, brother.”
***
After the banquet prince Dahl and the Lord-General excused themselves and retired to look over rare art treasures in a special room. “And to discus allying the two Families,” the prince added. Ostensibly. For Launette knew the Endawn heir wanted to talk politics
The room they entered was lined with bronze statues of both sexes in sporting poses, all in only breechclouts.
Studying a svelte female javelin thrower, the prince began, “Lord-General, now we are alone, without our advisers, I wish to be frank with you.”
“I appreciate openness, sire.”
“Well, you know, you could be the next king of Lornwater. I would rather deal with you than Haltese or, failing him, Nemond Thand.”
“You do me great honour in suggesting it, highness. To attain the throne I would have to be a ‘usurper’ and that is a foul word to my mind.”
“Quite usual in the history of Floreskand, though, is it not?”
Launette shook his head. “I won’t be associated with it.”
“I respect your stance, Lord-General. Nevertheless, I would have you know that I will back whatever you decide – particularly now that we are soon to be family.”
“I have no designs on Lornwater, sire. I am here solely for my sister’s benefit.”
“The two months of waiting for the wedding are going to be excruciating,” said the prince with a chuckle.
“I agree. I don’t know how I will fill in the time!”
“You have an Endawn concubine?”
“Yes, prince. And Vilare suits me well. Invigorating, shall we say?”
“But you would like more physical sport, no?”
“Yes, I certainly don’t want to grow stale. Muscles can atrophy if unused.”
“Would you like to go on a hunt, Lord-General?”
“Yes, very much. I hear your wild boar are most wilful!”
“They are, Lord-General. I’ve had two horses gored. You have to treat those beasts with respect…”
“… before piercing them with your spear?”
“Precisely!”
Chuckling at his double meaning, the prince gestured at a statue of a female discus thrower. “I so admire the artistry. They are so lifelike!”
“Indeed they are, highness; the epitome of grace in form and execution.” Launette pointed to a pair of male wrestlers, the muscles and sinews depicted in exquisite detail. “Though I never found grace in battle.”
“No, quite. And what do you make of the strife in Lornwater?”
“It will be resolved, one way or another.”
“Do you think Nemond Thand is behind the uprising?”
“No, your highness. He is too frail mentally to design any plot of that kind; even if he managed that feat, he could not sustain it.”
“Then it must be Haltese. His distaste for his father is widely known.”
“Why must it be any plotter? Perhaps the rioting is spontaneous.”
“That is always possible, of course. It is puzzling, though, why the rioting has begun now, while you are absent.”
“Pure chance. Coincidence.”
“Where politics are concerned, Lord-General, I do not believe in coincidence.”
“Neither I nor my toumen are needed, highness. The king can call upon the fourth toumen; they’re loyal to the Black Sword.”
“So they are.” He passed a hand over the smooth limbs of a female bronze archer. “My spies tell me that Arisa is casting envious eyes on Lornwater–”
“You have spies in Arisa, highness?”
“Yes, of course. Haven’t we all? Spies everywhere, I mean.”
Launette bowed briefly, amusement on his lips, wondering still about Vilare. “Of course.” He made a mental note to get in touch with his own spy, Bindar, in Arisa. He’d been quiet of late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BROKEN
“Everywhere I see kindness,
from which I alone am irrevocably excluded.”
- Where, a Tear by Laan Gib (1830-1998AC)
Third Sidin of Fornious
Lornwater
Haltese had ordered the bulk of the troops to bivouac well out of sight in the huge hollow of land known as Funderment Cradle. They would remain under the command of General Luascar.
Now, Haltese rode at the head of five hundred men-at-arms, his huge muscular eunuch Masteef by his side. Eerily, early morning mist meandered at the base of the immense forest that surrounded the city. Above the treetops he glimpsed the two towers of the varteron gate of Lornwater. At his side rode Baron Laan and his wife, and General Luascar. They stuck to the roadway, fully aware that the fourth toumen controlled the forest.
Shortly, materialising from the mist like wraiths, there emerged about fifty horsemen, all in black armour. A herald urged his horse ahead of them; he carried the banner of the fourth toumen: a black flag with a black sword inside a gold disc. “Hold, who goes there?” he demanded, wiping his eyes, doubtless troubled by the haze of mist.
Haltese eased his horse forward and held up a hand. “I am Prince Haltese.” He gestured behind him at his pennon held aloft by General Luascar’s sergeant. “I wish to return to the side of my father in his hour of need. I have brought a small contingent to offer him armed assistance.”
“You know the rules, prince,” the herald said. “How many armed men accompany you?”
“Five hundred, no more.”
“That is too many to permit access to the three cities. You know this, prince.”
“Bring General Nhev to me. I do not wish to bicker with a mere herald!”
“Prince, I mean no disrespect. I simply state the facts, the law requires–”
“How dare you answer me back! Your name, herald, so I may inform my father of it!”
The herald swung his horse round. “I will bring the general, sir!” he shouted over his shoulder.
Baron Laan edged his horse closer. “Will your bluster work with General Nhev, Prince?”
“We shall have to wait and see. I trust the general is not stationed elsewhere in this damnable forest!”
They only waited a short time, however. “Now we shall learn what the general says,” Haltese said, gesturing at the arrival of two horsemen on either side of the herald. Unlike the herald and his company, these men wore green uniform protected by dark hardwood greaves, pauldrons and helmets.
General Nhev saluted Haltese. “My apologies, sir, my herald was only doing his duty. As you know, no more than fifty armed men from any toumen are allowed in the city walls. That is the ancient edict. It has never been broken.”
“Like you, General, I am loyal to the Black Sword.” Haltese raised himself in his saddle, turned to face his mounted men. “Who here is loyal to the Black Sword?” he demanded.
Almost as one, all of his men shouted “I am, my prince!”
Lowering himself in his saddle, he eyed the general. “Well, would you deprive my father of so many dedicated men?”
“I do not question your loyalty, prince. I and many others do wonder about the acrimony between you and your father.”
Haltese waved a hand to airily dismiss such paltry concerns. “When the safety of my fat
her is of paramount importance, and by association, the Black Sword, I set aside any petty differences, General Nhev. He is of my blood. That should be sufficient for you.”
Nhev nodded. “I will agree to you and your men entering the city, however, I will detail two of my lieutenants to accompany you in case any troublesome soldier makes an objection…”
“You have made a wise decision, General. It will be remembered.”
“I warn you, Prince Haltese, the varteron gate is held by rebels. You will have to fight to enter.”
“All the more reason for me to have these men with me, no?”
“As you say, sire.”
The general’s two lieutenants escorted Haltese and his men the rest of the way, along the road through the forest.
Eventually, they emerged from the concealment of vast trees. To left and right stood smallholdings, farms to supply the city’s needs, and beyond these, the ringtrail and then an open area that stretched all along the wall of the New City: razed land, the killing ground. A fair distance ahead loomed the varteron gate.
Above the entry arch and at each side, the battlements bristled with rebels.
As Haltese and his men rode up, many of the rebels called down, cursing and laughing. Several sounded drunk – drunk with power or ale? None seemed to recognise him or his banner. If the walls had been manned by guardians, he would have been identified instantly. He had a strong feeling that the rebellion was going to be a very messy affair, one side not knowing who fought for whom.
Haltese glanced at the two lieutenants at his side and surreptitiously gave the nod to General Luascar and Baron Laan.
“Let me enter!” Haltese demanded.
“Who might you be, kind sir?”
This was so exasperating! “I am Haltese, Prince Royal! Open up, man, I have business with your leaders!”
“But, prince, they’re rebels,” remonstrated the lieutenant on his left. In an instant, his comments were cut off as General Luascar’s knife slit his throat. The other lieutenant met a similar fate at the blade of Baron Laan.
“See, I have disposed of two lieutenants from the fourth toumen! Open up! I have reinforcements for you and your men!”
The spokesman vanished from the battlements. There was a lengthy delay.
Haltese anxiously scanned the scorched land on either side, praying that no hidden soldiers from the fourth toumen had witnessed the deaths of their two officers.
Finally, the gate opened. Men with bows and arrows and halberds warily flanked the troup as they rode through. The spokesman from earlier ran up to Haltese, snatched his bridle. “I am to take you to our headquarters, your highness.”
“Do so, and be quick about it!”
“We must pass through two sectors,” the man said.
Haltese let his horse be led at the front of their column. The remainder of his people followed as they passed through sector thirty-one. On either side, street people watched and whispered. Some recognised the prince and sneered, while others turned away. Voices were raised, not all of them complimentary. Haltese felt the warm flush on his cheeks. This disrespect was due to his father, nobody else. How Mother abided the man, he failed to understand.
At last, they came to Marron Square that straddled sectors twenty-six and twenty-one and drew up outside the entrance to the Red Tellar Inn.
“This is your headquarters?” Haltese queried.
“Aye, Prince.” The man spat on the ground. “We can enjoy an ale or two while we plan how to beat your father to a–”
“Less of that, man!” barked Baron Laan, a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“No,” said Haltese, grasping the baron’s arm. “The man has a grievance.” He turned to the watching crowd. “That is why I am here. I mean to dethrone my father and right the wrongs he has done you.”
Loud murmuring was followed by jocularity and a muted cheers. A number of voices expressed the view that “seeing was believing” though.
The man gestured at Haltese and Laan. “Only you two will come with me.”
Haltese exchanged a glance with Masteef, shook his head: stay.
General Luascar said gruffly, “It is my duty to go with the prince.”
The man nodded. “Very well, General. You as well. Follow me.”
Dismounting, Baron Laan said, “They could do with a lesson in manners, Prince!”
Jumping down beside him, Haltese released a smile. “Let us be charitable, Baron.” He clapped General Luascar’s shoulder. “We need them as much as they need the men we have brought.”
They entered the inn.
The man led them along a passage and soon they came to a doorway and six marble steps descended into a long narrow room.
Walls, interspersed with weapons and shield displays, offered illumination from decorative shagunblend lamps. “This is the Long Banquet Hall,” said the man.
“I know,” said Baron Laan. “I’ve been here before.” During his last visit it had been bare. Now, however, the heavy wooden chairs that lined each side were occupied by men and women, and papers, maps and food was scattered on the square wooden tables.
As before, Ranell sat in a high-backed hartwood chair at the far end on a dais; beside him suspended from a stand was a big brass gong and mallet.
“Welcome back, Baron,” Ranell said. He stood and gestured at the prince. “You are true to your word.” He bowed to Haltese and descended the dais steps. “Greetings, Prince.” He offered his hand.
***
Red Tellar Inn, New City, Lornwater
Haltese removed his gauntlet and shook Ranell’s hand. “Baron Laan tells me you and the gilds will support me, is that correct?”
“It is.” Ranell indicated the assembled men on the left, some of advanced years; they all rose from their chairs, neither deferential nor surly. “These are the gild leaders. They have pledged their support, Prince.” The men on their right stood too. “Here, we have captains and rank and file who have sided with us.”
“Good. I understand that the New City is not taken yet?”
“No. There are pockets of resistance. We are trying not to cause too much bloodshed.”
“It will come to it in the end,” said General Luascar.
“I agree,” said Ranell. “When we storm the gates, it will be carnage.”
“Who leads the rebels?” asked Haltese.
Ranell returned a hard stare. “We are not rebels, Prince.”
“Oh? So what do you call yourselves? Not anarchists, I trust?”
“Freedom fighters. We aim to break the shackles of a tyrant that bind us.”
The veal-coloured lips of the prince curved slightly. “I can live with that. But you have not answered my question.”
“Nominally,” Ranell said, “that is me, though I lean heavily on the experience of the captains.”
“You are young for the role.”
“I am my father’s son, Prince.”
“Ulran, yes, of course… Very well.” Haltese turned to study the gildsmen. “I intend to put you gildsmen and your people under the command of Baron Laan.” The majority nodded, but a few evaded the prince’s eyes and glared at the floor, among them a young gildsman Ranell recognised: Ago-med Nerf of the saddlemaker’s fraternity. “Ranell, I want you and your force to be at the disposal of General Luascar here.”
“As you desire, Prince,” Ranell said with good grace; he wondered if his father would have accepted what was in effect a demotion; he somehow doubted it. “If you will permit, General, I will advise you whenever you require.”
“That would be a good help, innman,” said Luascar. “Doubtless, you are more familiar than I regarding the layout of the three cities.”
Ranell gave a nod, not surprised at the general; though Haltese was the Prince Regent and heir to the throne, the men of his two toumens originated from outside Lornwater; a deliberate ploy by his father.
***
New City, Lornwater
The gildsmen dispersed with B
aron Laan.
Outside the inn, the baron detailed the gildmasters to cover sectors of the city. “Recruit men to your side. Try to contain the violence. I have already heard that the watchmen cannot cope as it is.”
“We will do what we can,” said the gildmaster of silversmiths.
Milling with the gildsmen, young Ago-med Nerf peered about him and noted that nobody was taking an interest in him. Subtly moving back into the shadows, he broke away from the group and set out through the lanes and alleys, heading for the saddlemakers’ gildhouse.
His gildmaster would be interested to know that Prince Haltese was plotting with the rebels.
Olelsang was welcoming. “Take a seat, young man. Nerf, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Gildmaster.” He sat at the table and waited while the gildmaster poured a generous helping of wine into a goblet.
“Drink, and take your time. Tell me all you have learned so far.”
***
Epal villa, New City, Lornwater
From the balcony, Epal Danorr and Lorar had a view of the nearby square. The sound of intermittent fighting was funnelled up the street. He was dressed in silk robes, while she had preferred a grey cotton shift, better to conceal her shape from his lascivious eyes.
“The fighting grows worse,” he said, leaning on the stone parapet. Idly he stroked his black triangular moustache. “I am in a quandary over whose side to favour.”
She remained silent, her heart pummelling. All she could think of was Ranell and the look of despair in his eyes as she had departed with Epal. Tradition and common sense told her that their marriage was impossible now. Yet her heart urgently carried a different message.
Epal straightened, swivelled round and grabbed her arms. “When I speak to you, Lorar, I expect you to answer me!” He shook her, and his wide-set dull grey-brown eyes lanced into her, his nostrils flaring.
“I’m sure… you will choose the side… that suits you… best.”
He raised a hand, readied to strike her across the face.
Instinctively, she lifted her forearm in defence.
Scowling, he lowered his arm. In a cultured tone, he added, “You must learn to be nice to me.”
Nice? What did he mean by that?
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