“Just do not expect me to assist you by calling the elements, should you start a skirmish.”
“Oh, no. A knight needs no help from the likes of you or any other man who hides his face, pretending to have cryptic powers. I assure you of that. Fairytales do not hold up against the edge of a sword such as mine.” Kelgun turned his horse so that he could better face Tallos, causing the beast to sidestep at an impressive pace. “And I never start a fight that I cannot finish. Just ask Sir Stormblade.” Kelgun grinned, sheathed his sword, and righted his horse, which had visibly exhausted from the showy maneuver.
Dusan made a disgusted sound in response to Kelgun’s boasting, but quietly enough so that only Tallos could hear. The boy then hoisted himself upon the chestnut rouncey and crinkled his nose. I need a bath, and soon, thought Tallos, or even the old tinker may see fit to abandon me. Tallos walked to the rear of the horse so that he would be downwind of all the travelers.
“C’mere, Lily. Bring me another skin of wine would you?” said Kelgun.
It happened before Tallos had joined, but Dusan had confided in him that his older sister had begun to share Kelgun’s bed shortly after he and his sister had joined the group. Lily now acted the part of both wife and squire, washing Kelgun’s clothing and fetching him things. Dusan insisted to Tallos that the behavior was coerced, but to Tallos she looked eager enough to please the man. Tallos knew the types of men that the homely daughters of farmers usually wed, and in terms of youth, appearance, and status, Kelgun had them bested by a good margin—even if his knightly title was self-appointed.
Atop her painted pack mule, Lily fell back to ride beside Kelgun so she could hand him a fresh skin of wine, of which there were plenty. He tossed her his empty skin but did so poorly. She leaned back to try to catch it but failed, due to no fault of her own. She had deft hands for a woman, Tallos had observed on previous such exchanges, likely from her farm work where it was necessary to toss and catch items during the harvest sort.
“Ahhh. Damn woman. You couldn’t catch an arrow to the belly at point blank range. We put the likes of you in at the forefront of a charge to keep the rest of us safe from archers.” Tallos saw both John and Dusan’s heads shaking, either having heard this before or being simply tired of Kelgun’s drunken rambling. “Beats the hell out of a shield. Bolts from a strong bow go right through a shield, they do. But not through a fat man with bumbling hands. No, he learns to catch at the front of the van, and in time he makes it look easy.” Kelgun slapped what he must have intended to be Lily’s rump as she rode beside him, but struck more her lower back, as her cheeks were mostly molded into the muslin sacks that served as her saddle. She handed him his new skin of wine and went to retrieve the one that had fallen.
Tallos had already picked it off the ground and held it out to her so she did not need to dismount. Why do I insist on acting kind to these people I intend to see burn? he wondered.
Tallos was yet to extend his promise to spite the gods since having surfaced. His dreams and memories may have continued to solidify his hatred for the deities he had previously revered, but it did nothing to make him despise his fellow travelers. Any plots he had intended to hatch to slay them in their sleep remained shelled and embryonic. To slaughter these lambs would simply be sacrilege on too small a scale, Tallos reasoned in frustration.
“Yes, save your energy, girl. I have a new trick to show you tonight. One that I learned warring and whoring. One that will require more from you than I.” Kelgun concluded with his usual laughter.
Lily did not seem to mind the openness with which Kelgun proclaimed his conquest over her, but Dusan was another matter. Tallos could see the boy’s left fist clenching the handle of his dagger repeatedly. He did not think Dusan would actually try anything. He was of the age of all thought and no action. Had he been a killer, he surely would have slit the knight’s throat in his sleep long ago.
“A village ahead,” said Wilkin. Tallos wondered how the old man could see so far as he himself could make out no such features, and Tallos had the eyes of a hawk.
A quarter mile later, Tallos saw the village Wilkin had spoken of, but it was the deep thumping coming from the same direction that drew his main attention.
“What are those sounds?” asked John. The question was directed at Wilkin, but it was Kelgun who pulled his horse to an abrupt stop, causing the beast to snort loudly with a fear of danger shared by its master.
“War drums. We must turn ’round.”
DERUDIN
“He is not a statesman,” said Lyell. “I should have never assigned him the task of governing so cutthroat a city. I trained him as a boy to hold a sword, and when he became a man I put a pen in his hand. The fault was my own—a fault I will correct.”
The king delivered these words with ardor. Since the news of the banquet and possible reconciliation with his son, Lyell’s appetite had returned to its normal voraciousness, and his demeanor had improved.
“You plan to relieve him of his duty to Westport?” Derudin asked.
Lyell stood and shifted his weight between his feet. “No, that is still too tight.”
The cobbler knelt before the king and began to undo his lacings.
“Simply relieve him? No, of course not. That would be an embarrassment to us both. An elevation is what is necessary.”
“You would give him Rivervale?” Aside from replacing Derudin as the king’s First, there were no other positions of higher authority that could be given to Alther.
“I said an elevation, not a kingdom.” The king let out a sigh of relief as the cobbler removed his shoes. “Far too tight,” he told the man. “No, there is no such position currently, which is why one must be invented. I intend to put Alther in charge of the military—recruiting, training, preparations, and what have you.”
“Master of Forces would not technically be an elevation,” Derudin said.
“No, nor would I allow a man to hold such a title. I will still be in charge of the army’s movements, mind you.”
Derudin saw no need to point out that a position with less authority than a Master of Forces would neither be considered an elevation; the king could assign whatever rank he pleased to his new title. “Master of Steel,” Derudin thought aloud.
“Sounds too much like a blacksmith.” The king grunted as the cobbler pushed two new shoes on his feet. “The name is not so important. It will be the delivery.”
“You will let him know at the banquet then?”
“Assuming all goes well,” said Lyell. “Never underestimate your children’s capacity for impudence, should you ever have any. But Alther will have reason for good spirits when I let him know he may visit his wife. I may even see her pardoned in time, should it be workable.”
“It would call your judgment into question to reverse such a ruling.”
“I question my own judgment. I have no love for that woman beyond what my eyes appreciate, but The Guard has gotten nothing from her… Nothing. She is either innocent or strong beyond belief, and I am not one to think a woman capable of the latter.”
“I suppose we could have her guilt expunged by royal decree, removing her of the taint of having to confess as well as any admission on our part that she had never been guilty.” There was little a royal decree could not fix, aside from affairs of the heart and conscience, and while Derudin did not necessarily agree that such a plan was in the best interest of the realm, he knew better than to involve himself in a king’s personal decisions. Lyell’s family was as sacred to him as the Ancient Laws were to Derudin, and he had come to respect that, if only by necessity. It was because of this that he did not press the king on the matter of Ethel, which he believed was the root of much of this continued discord.
The king again stood. “That will do nicely,” he said, prompting Derudin and the cobbler to look at him in an attempt to determine to whom he had spoken. “Yes, the shoes are fine as well. Now see them removed and send in the cloth maidens.”
That
had been Derudin’s cue to leave as well. As with most formal dinners and events, it was necessary that the king be adorned in the proper ceremonial garb. This was a rather lengthy procedure that Derudin took no part in—and with good reason.
“Don’t wander off too far, Derudin. I intend to leave for the banquet in no more than half of an hour.” Lyell looked at the dayglass on his mantle, noting the time for both their benefit.
Derudin nodded and stepped out of the bedchambers and into the study.
There was no sign of the cobbler who had so recently exited through the same door. The man moves with purpose, thought Derudin, troubled by the possibility of him perhaps moving with more alacrity than would be justified by simple obedience. In his place, however, a pair of fine-looking cloth maidens made their way down the lengthy hall, stealing Derudin’s attention. These two specimens of youth, seen between the halves of the great table Derudin was so fond of, were every bit as admirable. Each wore a matching dress of simple black and white, the diminutive waist set off by a hooped skirt lined with ruffled lace, the neck likewise by shawl-like shoulders, flared and frilled. Like the lacings of a shoe, black trim crisscrossed the front, tied in a bow at the top, the same material worn as collars tight to the skin.
As they bounced past him with springy steps, Derudin’s eyes went to the topographical carvings on the walls, though his head was still elsewhere. The maidens, the cobbler, Alther, Cassen…ships with square sails—his thoughts were without rest. The sound of the bedchamber door closing behind the girls echoed through the room, continuing so in his mind long after it had faded.
Derudin inhaled deeply. Mixed with the lingering scent of the two who had passed, the room smelled of conquest and averted disaster. Sixteen years, he reminded himself. During that time he and Lyell had overseen the peaceful rule of not one, but two kingdoms—the only two kingdoms of consequence. The decisions made in this room had shaped the realm; the problems they now faced were no greater than any others that together they had resolved.
Derudin walked across the hall and traced his fingers over the deep indentures of the contoured hangings, feeling the detail carved into the crenellations of the Adeltian walls. They had served their purpose, those modest walls, making a populace feel safe while its true fate was determined by those who sat in this room. I am humble enough to know humility is not among my stronger virtues, thought Derudin, but I would be remiss to assume I could have done it all without Lyell. Indeed, Lyell had overruled Derudin many a time—usually to his own detriment, but on occasion, the king had been so correct that Derudin was left stupefied by his own blindness. Let the square sails be one such occasion. The possibility calmed him as he sat in a nearby chair, his drifting mind put to rest.
The bang of the chamber door brought Derudin to rapid attention. The two cloth maidens headed toward him. It did not take a mage’s eye to see they were more disheveled than need be, had they merely helped the king to dress. They’d no doubt assisted Lyell in getting out of his current clothing as much as they had getting him into his next set, but as always, they would have performed the latter dutifully. The pair went past Derudin and exited the hall with a giggle.
The king had indeed been properly dressed. He stepped out of his chambers emanating regality. White fur lined the neck of the deep purple cape that flowed down the full length of his body and then some. Layers of finely brocaded fabric, taut around his torso, were visible for the moments when the massive cape saw fit to reveal them. All that was missing was his crown, but Lyell had never been known to wear one. It made Derudin wonder just how long he had dozed. A glance at the dayglass of the room—which would be perfectly synchronized with the one in the king’s bedchamber, lest someone be lashed—revealed over an hour had passed.
Noticing where Derudin had looked, the king was amused. “I apologize. It would seem I do not fit into my finery so well as I once did.” He patted his stomach as though he was a husky man, which he was not. “I see you have dressed up as well,” he said lightly. “Nonetheless, I hope you will at least enjoy some of the food this evening as I have selected the dishes all myself—favorites of both mine and Alther’s.” Lyell looked to Derudin with a raised brow. “No need to be such a bore all the time, now is there? To better please your laws and morals, I could always command it so.”
“As you wish, my king.” Derudin decidedly considered the request an order, not that it truly was. What harm could there be in one night of indulgence? As commanded, of course.
“Good. Let them know I will enter now. I assume all is ready?”
“I believe so.” Derudin hoped it was the truth. “I will proceed.”
The guests would have been gathering for just under an hour now, a customary amount of time to wait for the king. Lyell did not do as some and force his audience to wait without food or drink for hours in the hopes that they would come to associate his arrivals with that of celebration and feast, something Derudin had seen have quite the opposite effect for kings past. But it would certainly be unbecoming to not make his guests wait some amount of time to ensure they all had arrived prior to the king himself.
Derudin was pleased to see the king’s escort, comprised of Master Warin and three other members of The Guard, patiently standing outside the study in spite of him not having met them there in advance. Derudin nodded, and they took up their positions flanking the king. Derudin led the entourage from a distance of a good many paces as they descended stairs and walked along the castle’s inner wall. He noted the emptiness of the courtyard while allowing the brisk winter air to remove the lingering sluggishness from his doze.
Glancing upward, Derudin saw the monstrosity that was the Throne itself. It did not look any smaller than the day he and Lyell had stormed these walls, taking it as their own. It put him in an odd mood, however, knowing Crella would be directly above where the celebration would be taking place. Should she somehow manage to throw herself from the balcony, it would certainly put a damper on the night’s festivities. I should have seen to the safeguarding of that room myself, he thought with worry.
As he neared, the sounds of the banquet could be heard. The typical unintelligible roar produced by too many people speaking at once within a single structure, the sound that only grew as each party increased their own volume to be heard over the yelling of the others, already threatened Derudin from a distance. He did not fear the noise, but he found it unsettling to be so completely deprived of a sense—one which he had relied upon heavily over the years to ensure his safety and the safety of those he advised, but it was unavoidable in such circumstance. Music could also be heard, but Lyell was not a champion of overzealous performers who tried to make themselves out to be the very cause for the occasion, insisting on obnoxious displays of table dancing and shouting over the already deafening rumble of those merely trying to hold conversation. Instead, a subdued group of musicians played in a sounding corner to provide some ambiance. Derudin took a moment to silently thank Lyell for this preference.
Nodding at several guards posted at the rear entryway to the banquet hall, ensuring they had noticed him, Derudin then gathered shadows and proceeded inside alone. The sound was not so disarming as were the smells. Derudin was reminded of his promise to partake in the night’s feast and began to salivate in wonder of what it would entail. He would chide himself later for his indiscretion, but for now all he could do was scan the room with his nose as much as his eyes for signs of what he’d soon enjoy. From the dais where he stood, home to the one-sided grand table at which the king and his retinue of esteemed guests would sit, Derudin peered downward at the happy patrons. Servants buzzed around the tables, carrying trays overflowing with culinary indulgences. A tanned girl with flowing hair to match carried an enormous salver of pig ribs that looked to have been coated in a sweet glaze and roasted over hot coals to produce a beautiful golden-brown crust that glistened even in the dull candlelight of the room. A similar girl with hair that only fell to her shoulders carried a lighter—thoug
h no less tempting—platter of flatbreads, still steaming from the stone ovens and slathered with a garlic butter sauce. She headed directly toward a young male servant with a tray above his head carrying steins of two different styles, one probably filled with mead and the other ale. Their near collision finally drew Derudin’s eye to the fact that, while the boys were topless, the girls were also nearly so, covered only in the sheerest silk that hugged against their skin as they walked, leaving little to the imagination.
The entire serving crew seemed to all be of the same lineage, looking so similar that they were—at the very least—all from the same region of the Spicelands. It was rare to use all foreign servants for such an event, but it certainly added to the atmosphere in a way. Rare and potentially dangerous, thought Derudin. He would have to keep a careful eye on the servants tonight, the females especially, since they were perhaps even more like to be assassins given their unassuming nature.
The king himself now walked toward Derudin—directly toward him in fact. Derudin realized it with just enough time to step out of the way. The king, who was no doubt taking in the sights, had nearly trampled Derudin, shrouded in shadows as he was. I must remain focused tonight. That was unacceptable.
Derudin had not even completed his task of analyzing all the members of the grand table for potential danger by the time the king was at his place at the center. Already seated to the left of the king’s chair were Alther and Cassen. Some Rivervalian nobility filled the seats normally taken by Crella, Stephon, and even Ethel, who was absent for reasons Derudin was not certain of, though he could wager a guess. To the right was a chair left empty for the nonexistent queen, one for Derudin himself, Master Warin, Master Larimar, and several others for whichever Adeltian nobility had lobbied the hardest. Derudin long suspected there was no real precedent for the Master of Records to be seated so prominently, but it was not an argument worth having, especially when it would be made against the sole party controlling the recording and recalling of precedents. Nor could he blame the usually joyless old man for stealing this one harmless bit of pride and luxury for himself, but the fact remained, annoying Derudin: small deceits were always the start of larger ones.
The Axe and the Throne (Bounds of Redemption Book 1) Page 35