“Valindra, hand me those clothes.” Rhada said pointing to the pile of armor Emeric had worn on his journey there.
Valindra grasped them in both her arms and began shaking the dust from them. Together, Rhada and Valindra helped Emeric dress. He was unable to stand on his own so Rhada and Myranda allowed him to wrap his arms around their shoulders and lifted him to his feet, while Valindra pulled his pants on one leg at a time. She tied them tightly, feeling that he had lost a lot of weight since last he had worn them. When she stepped back, she smiled at the sight of him. She had not yet witnessed him standing upright and the sight brought more joy to her heart than she could have imagined. She placed the palm of her hand on his cheek and he smiled back at her in return.
Rhada stepped away from Emeric, leaving Myranda to support his full weight. She grasped the hilt of his sword that had been dropped upon the floor and untouched for weeks. She wiped away the dust with the hem of her own shirt and replaced the blade into its scabbard. She handed it to Emeric with a smile and watched in amazement as holding the blade brought some color back to his cheeks, much in the same way holding Bloodbinder had done for her.
“Valindra, run to the stables and prepare one of my horses for Protector Emeric.” She commanded and Valindra ran from the room with haste. “Can you get him there on your own, Myranda?” She asked, turning her attention to the Sorceress. Myranda nodded her head as she tried to balance with Emeric hanging off her.
“It will take some time but we will make it.”
“Good.” Rhada turned back to Emeric and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Take my horse. I shan’t need it. Take the road west out of Axendra and ride at a steady pace for two days. You will find Lord Ivran and his army there. I am certain he will be glad to see you.”
Emeric looked to the High Protector in astonishment. “Why are you helping me?” He asked.
“Does it matter?” Rhada said, unwilling to give Emeric the answer he sought. Emeric shook his head in reply.
“Have Valindra pack some food for their journey. The two of you will have to help him onto the horse and Valindra will have to ride with him to make certain he arrives safely.” She said to Myranda.
Myranda glowered at Rhada as she spoke; “you are sending my maid away?” The anger was obvious in her voice.
“I am certain that you can manage to change your own bed sheets for the time being.”
Myranda continued to scowl at Rhada, but said nothing.
“Go now.” Rhada commanded. She turned and walked to the door and held it open for them. “The darkness shall shield you from unsavory eyes.” She said this as the sun began its descent into night.
“Thank you.” Emeric said softly as they passed her. “Thank you for your generosity.” Rhada nodded in reply and watched as the two of them disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.
When they were gone, Rhada turned and made her way back to her bedchamber. She threw Bloodbinder angrily upon her bed and stepped to the window, lighting her pipe and taking in long, angry puffs of smoke.
“Rhada, you fool.” She said to herself as she looked out to the city that was disappearing into the night. Everything she thought she knew about the King and Queen had been wrong. Even the Queen, whom Rhada had always considered a kind and generous ruler, carried inside of her an evil heart.
She turned her gaze outward, to the darkness beyond the city and knew that Lord Ivran and his thousands waited there. Let them come. She thought to herself as she puffed on her pipe. Let them tear this place apart stone by stone. There shall be no tears shed for the King or Queen. Not by me.
Chapter 16
The city of Bhrys was nestled in the valley below, basking in the morning glow of the warm sun. Snow seldom fell in this region of Kaena but on rare occasions, when the winter was extra wrathful, Bhrys would be covered in a white blanket. Lord Guyon Arnet had been concerned when they first left Elipol that the snowfall would follow them all the way south. But the snow had vanished, along with the cold, a week after leaving the chilly winter of his home. And now he stood above Bhrys and its autumn-like weather was most pleasing to him and his men.
“My Lord,” the voice that beckoned him came from Protector Josef Alan.
Lord Guyon turned from the sight of Bhrys to face Protector Josef, a man who was only half Lord Guyon’s age but looked to be twice as old. His long, stringy hair was in shambles from the ride and his whiskered cheeks were red with frostbite that had stuck to him since leaving the chill of Elipol.
“What is it?” Lord Guyon asked, reaching for the waterskin that was strapped to his belt.
“A rider approaches.” Protector Josef said.
Lord Guyon leaned to the side to peer over Josef’s shoulder down the road. He could clearly see the rider in the distance, hastily running for Lord Guyon’s company. He raised the waterskin to his lips and took a hard drink. Instead of water, he had hidden within the waterskin a draught of mapleberrie liquor. He let the burning of the spirit linger on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. He handed the waterskin to Josef, who took a grateful drink as well, before heading towards the approaching rider.
“Do you suppose it is a sentry from Bhrys?” Lord Guyon asked Josef, who followed closely behind, ready to protect his Lord if necessary.
“Hard to tell, my Lord. I cannot see the colors of his armor, nor does he appear to be carrying a banner. I’d say that if Bhrys had sent riders out to greet us, they would have sent more than one.”
Lord Guyon nodded his head in agreement. “Aye.”
Two of Lord Guyon’s guards stepped forward to greet the rider. When he was within distance, they ordered him to a halt and grasped at the reins of his horse.
Lord Guyon studied the man carefully, noticing the way he kept a hand to his hood to conceal his identity. His cloak was a plain color of brown which gave no indication of where the man had come from.
Protector Josef stepped forward, his right hand placed carefully upon the hilt of his sword, and called out; “who are you and what is your purpose?”
The rider turned his head towards Protector Josef and Lord Guyon thought he caught a glimpse of the young face from underneath the hood- his heart skipped a beat.
“My name is Gerrim Wentby and I have come to have words with your Lord.” Gerrim pulled down the hood to reveal his face and Lord Guyon had to refrain from shouting at the lad to turn around and be gone from his presence. Such an act, however, would cause a scene in front of his men and he wished to avoid any suspicions.
“Allow him to come forward.” Lord Guyon said and waved the young man ahead. Gerrim smiled sheepishly as he sauntered over to where Lord Guyon stood.
“My Lord.” He said in a mocking tone and bowed clumsily before him.
“Tell me what it is you wish of me and be quick about it. I have urgent matters to attend to.”
Gerrim stood tall with the same sheepish grin and cocked his head to one side. “Is that the way you plan to greet your future sons?”
Lord Guyon stiffened, looking around for any who may have heard the boy’s words. The only person within hearing distance was Protector Josef and he was no concern to Lord Guyon, he was already aware of his Lord’s secret.
“Do not cause a scene.” He scolded the boy. “Why have you come here? I thought you were upon the cusp of your wedding?”
Gerrim’s lips softened into a thin line and his blue eyes pierced through Lord Guyon. His brown hair sat atop his head like a mop, flowing over his face in the shape of a bowl. His face was beardless and covered in freckles, giving him the appearance of a boy too young to be married.
“My wedding has been placed on hold for the time being. My betrothed is waiting for me in Bhrys, at the Casket Inn.”
“Protector Fendrel allowed his daughter to travel all this way with you?” Lord Guyon asked with skepticism.
“Protector Fendrel cared as much for his bastard daughter as you do for your bastard son.” Gerrim retorted with an air of spite.
“That will be enough of that!” Lord Guyon said commandingly. He may have been a soft man at heart, but his skin was tough and demanded the respect that was due a man of his position.
“Anyway,” Gerrim continued, pretending not to hear Lord Guyon, “Protector Fendrel is dead.”
“Dead?” Lord Guyon was taken aback by this news. “How?”
“I do not know how. Someone killed the fool.”
“And how do you know this?” Lord Guyon asked, giving Gerrim a wary eye.
“I heard it from the High Protector’s lips meself.”
Lord Guyon stared hard at Gerrim for a moment before asking; “you met the High Protector?”
Gerrim nodded his head.
“When? Where?”
“About a month ago, in North Fort.”
“What was she doing there?”
Gerrim shrugged his shoulders. “Passing through I suppose.” He stepped closer and smiled at Lord Guyon. “I have other news as well.”
“Go on.” Lord Guyon prompted, uncertain if he wanted to hear this other news.
“The High Protector killed a long lost friend of yours.” Lord Guyon did not give any indication that he cared to guess at names, so Gerrim continued; “Mulvaus.”
“Mulvaus?” Lord Guyon looked away from Gerrim and out towards the distance, picturing the boy he had grown up with- the servant boy who plowed his fields and played cards with him on days that his parents were away. They would never allow Lord Guyon to converse with the help. Then he pictured Mulvaus the man and his hands began to shake. He was the man who had taken poor Eliza. They found her in the field that he used to plow, naked and nearly frozen to death. She had never fully recovered from Mulvaus’s attack and Lord Guyon had been forced to send her away, along with her mother. He could not be expected to care for them.
Gerrim, of course, had never forgiven Lord Guyon. He and Eliza had been more than half brother and sister, they had been best friends and when it became apparent that Gerrim would never see her again, he left Elipol, taking with him the other half of Lord Guyon’s heart.
Gerrim’s mother had died while giving birth to him and so Lord Guyon had taken the boy in under the guise of another maid’s son. The maid was an unknown woman his sister had found for him and she had raised Gerrim as though he were her own. Gerrim had even taken on her family name Wentby.
Gerrim resembled his mother so much; Lord Guyon found it difficult to look at the boy, even now. He had loved Emelia with all his heart and nearly died when he heard the news of her death. He would have married her, had she not been a lowly servant in the castle. His mother and father would never have allowed it.
“Did you hear what I said?” Gerrim asked, growing impatient at his father’s silence. Lord Guyon blinked and pulled himself from his memories and stared at Gerrim as though he had never seen the boy before.
“Why did the High Protector kill him?” He asked.
“The fool thought he could assassinate her and she buried Bloodbinder deep into his beating heart.” Gerrim said this with a satisfied grin. “I only wish that I could have witnessed it meself.”
“You did not see it happen?” Lord Guyon asked, wondering if perhaps the boy was mistaken.
“Unfortunately, no. I saw the aftermath of their fracas, however. There is no mistaking that it was Mulvaus who lay dead at her feet- the man I swore to kill with my own two hands.”
Lord Guyon nodded, knowing that Gerrim would never have forgotten the face of the man he swore vengeance upon.
“Then I suppose I shall thank the High Protector when I see her, just before I kill her.”
Gerrim’s face contorted into a grimace. “I do not think you shall be the one to kill her, father.”
Lord Guyon stiffened at the word father but tried not to let it show. “And why not?” He asked.
“Because I am going to do it.”
Lord Guyon bellowed, making the men closest to him turn. He could not help the laughter that spilled from his lips and did not stop even when he noticed the face of his bastard son grow red with anger. Even Protector Josef could not stifle a giggle.
“You are a brave boy; I will give you that, but a warrior? You are no such thing and it would take ten of the finest warriors in Kaena to kill her.”
“You do not even carry a sword.” Protector Josef pointed out.
“That is why I have come, to claim what was promised to me.”
Lord Guyon’s laughter stopped suddenly. “Why the sudden interest in your birthrights?”
Gerrim smiled once again. “Lady Emely wishes for me to avenge her father.”
“Many foolish men rush forward without thinking, getting themselves killed, all for the silly whims of a beautiful woman.” Protector Josef said.
“Do not call my beloved a silly woman!” Gerrim shouted in anger. “You made me a promise many years ago and I have asked for nothing from you! Will you deny me that which you promised me? Will you deny your only living heir, who has never made any demands upon you?”
Lord Guyon raised a hand to silence the boy. “Keep your voice down!”
Gerrim scoffed in anger. “What is the matter, father? Afraid of who might discover your dirty little secret? The fact that you could not keep your pecker locked tightly away inside your pants?”
Lord Guyon reached forward and smacked the boy hard across the face. Gerrim let out a surprised whimper and grasped for his cheek where he had been struck.
“Let me make one thing very clear to you, boy. You are not my heir. You are a bastard and a bastard you shall always be. But, I did make you a promise and to that I shall keep.” Lord Guyon turned and walked to one of his sentries, giving him the order to fetch his extra weapons from the artillery carriage. When the sentry returned, he held in his hands three bows with quivers, two long swords, a short sword and five daggers. Lord Guyon selected one of the bows and a dagger then returned to where Gerrim stood, still clutching his bewildered face.
“Take these and take your rightful place in the ranks.”
Gerrim looked to the bow and dagger with disgust. “I was promised a sword!”
“And a sword you shall have, when you prove yourself worthy of such a weapon.”
“You expect me to ride into battle with a bow?”
“I expect you to march with the archers and stay a good distance away. Should you prove to be a worthy bowman, we will discuss giving you proper training with the sword.”
“This is so unfair!” Gerrim screamed. Those around them grew silent and stared at the boy who was throwing a tantrum.
“This is the way it will be. You have never once ridden into battle with a sword and I am not about to let you get yourself killed. Now join the men or leave. The choice is yours.”
Gerrim reluctantly reached forward and took from his father the bow and dagger. But before he turned to join his father’s men, he asked; “are you going to storm into Bhrys?”
“We are arriving there as guests. I wish to speak with Lady Omylia and form an alliance with her.”
Gerrim scoffed. “Good luck with that! I have met the Sorceress and she is a callous, wretch.”
Gerrim began walking briskly away, disappearing into the Elipol army’s ranks.
“The boy is right.” Protector Josef said, turning to Lord Guyon and whispering. “Lady Omylia will not join us without any benefit to her.”
Lord Guyon breathed deeply and looked down to the city that rested below.
“Then we will have to give her a reason to join our cause.”
Lord Guyon sat across from Sorceress Omylia in the dining hall, looking at her through his half-empty wine glass. Her countenance was half-hidden in the dim light of the room. The hearth did little to stave away the darkness that festered from lack of windows. Lady Omylia seemed to enjoy sitting in the dark, keeping the servants who lined the walls hidden in shadows.
He smiled when he noticed her gaze upon him and brought the glass to his lips, drinking the rest of the de
ep-red liquid down. It had been many years since Lord Guyon had had a smooth and replenishing wine such as the one he was drinking. In the north near Elipol, the vineyards that had been grown with high hopes had proven failures in their abilities to produce drinkable wine. Everyone knew it was because the ground in Elipol stays frozen half the year but for some reason, there were still men willing to try every year to produce a fine wine. Lord Guyon smiled as a nearby servant leaned forward to refill his now empty glass and did not hesitate to take another drink. He closed his eyes and imagined that he was standing in the center of the vineyard this wine had come from. It had to have been a place where the sun always shone and no snow touched the ground; perhaps somewhere south of Axendra.
“It is imported from Lerous.” The Sorceress said as she watched Lord Guyon with mild amusement. He opened his eyes and gently set his glass back on the table. How did she know what I was thinking? He wondered to himself but before he could ask the question aloud, Omylia answered. “You seem to be enjoying that wine very much. We have it brought here from Lerous. Lady Ashryn paid a high price for it but it is well worth it, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lord Guyon nodded his head. “Most definitely.” He said, realizing that anyone watching his face would have known how much he was enjoying the wine. “I would not mind paying to have some sent to me in Elipol.” He added.
“The journey from Lerous to Bhrys is difficult for the bottles. Almost every time a new shipment arrives, I can count on at least a third of the bottles being broken.”
“Tis a risk I would take.” Lord Guyon smiled once more as he looked over the Sorceress. Her eyes, though piercing, with the ability to make a man think she was looking right through him, were small and seemed misplaced upon her forehead. Her lips were tight and almost always pressed together. Her long, wavy hair flowed down past her waist and reminded Lord Guyon of a muddy river. Though he knew the Sorceress was close to him in age, he could not help but think that she looked to be no more than a little girl. Her frame was tiny and seemed as though it could break at the slightest touch. Lord Guyon had a hard time accepting that this was the woman who was now in charge of the second greatest army in all of Kaena, but he decided to keep that to himself.
Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2) Page 16