The Gully Snipe (The Dual World Book 1)

by JF Smith

  The Marshal Adjuncts knelt before him and Marshal Pumblennor exclaimed, “My stars! Your Highness, you are the exact image of Prince Thaybrill! Your hair is shorter and your cheeks a tad shallower, perhaps, but you are truly each other's twin! If I did not know better, I would have said you were Prince Thaybrill himself! Ah, well... you do not dress like him, though.”

  Pumblennor turned bright red and bowed deeply. He mumbled in his embarrassment, “Forgive my comment, Sire! I did not intend to insult!”

  “You’ve no doubt heard of my life to this point,” said Gully. “I am more accustomed to clothing such as this than dressing as my brother does. And since my intention was to slip away unnoticed during the night, I draw far less attention this way.”

  Marshal Yorghen said, trying to disguise his petulance but not entirely succeeding, “If I may be so bold, I do not understand the need for the risk we took today. Sire, we could have held the pass against an army ten times this size with a third the men we needed today; instead, we allow the Maqarans in and now have, luckily, captured them. Now we must watch them, feed them, and care for them. If I may beg Your Majesty’s indulgence, what is the point of securing and holding four hundred Maqarans?”

  Gully looked at the man, stupefied. Could it really be possible that this man had no idea why this was necessary?

  Gully ignored the Marshal Adjunct’s question, preferring to make him wait instead for what should be an obvious answer. He said to Roald, “I need to send word to whoever is in charge on the Maqaran side. Is there someone who can write a letter I will relate? You will understand, Marshal... uhm...”

  “Marshal Yorghen, Your Highness. From Wilch’s Post,” said the Marshal Adjunct with another bow.

  “Yes, thank you. You will understand, Marshal Yorghen, so stay and listen.”

  It only took a few moments to fetch a scribe with parchment and quill and they settled in for Gully to describe the message he wanted to send to the Maqarans. Gully said as the scribe wrote, “Your invasion has failed. We have 428 of your men captive, eight of whom are senior officers. For every slave of Iisen or Balmorean origin that you return to us, we will return one of your soldiers to you, alive. Four Iisenors or Balmoreans are required for each officer. You have a fortnight to comply.”

  Gully turned to Yorghen with eyebrows raised, waiting to see if he understood now.

  Yorghen turned red in the face and said, “Of course! My apologies, Highness. I had thought only of keeping the Maqarans from overrunning the Iisendom instead of taking wanton risks so we could pressure them for a trade.”

  The words bit into Gully’s skin and his dislike of Marshal Yorghen increased second by second. “Perhaps if a member of your family, a daughter or sister, was a slave in Maqara with her tongue cut out, you would see the risk a little differently. But then, you have the luxury of ignoring that perspective, I suppose.”

  Gully said grimly to everyone in the tent, “Whomever of our own that we receive back... it will never be all of them. It will never be enough. There will be those taken from us that will not have had the chance to see the fields and forests and mountains of the Iisendom again. But we must free those that can still be freed! As many as possible!”

  The scribe finished his writing and looked to the prince regent if there was more to add.

  Gully was about to say that his message was complete when Omalde piped up, “Begging yer pardon, but Prince Thaybrill begs yeh t’ add, demand a written accounting of each ’n every slave ever taken from the Iisendom. He says these Maqarans are mighty obsessive with their records and will be able t’ provide it.”

  Gully nodded and asked the scribe to add a demand to that effect.

  Roald moved next to Gully and whispered into his ear, “And you should add a personal note that Krayell Delavoor, Domo Regent of Iisen, sends his regrets that he could not let the Maqaran invasion succeed as promised, that the royal family of veLohrdan made him a better offer after all.”

  Gully grinned and nodded. “That is brilliant, Roald! Turn the Maqarans against him in case he escapes and seeks refuge there!” He dictated to the scribe how he wanted the final note added to the message.

  Gully sent the messenger off with his parting instructions. “Take a swordsman with you, cut the head from a ranking Maqaran officer that is already dead and cut his tongue out as well. Take it with you along with the message so they will know that these demands are not a bluff.”

  He turned to Roald next and asked, “Now, tell me. How did it go this morning? Leave out no detail that you can remember. I want to hear!” He took a seat and waited for Roald to begin his description of the invasion and the trap.

  Roald related the story to an attentive Gully, Aian, and Omalde. He told of being the first captured, on purpose, and Aalehvan and Encender saving his life. He described the valor of the Mercher clan battling side by side with them, and the fierce fighting abilities of trained balmors. He told with a gleam in his eye of the Maqaran officer refusing to surrender, only to die with an arrow splitting his head.

  Gully disapproved of the risk Roald had personally placed himself in and almost interrupted to say so, but he withheld the comment knowing any scolding over it would fall on deaf ears. At least all had turned out alright. Almost all. The dull ache in his heart over those killed because of him was still there, and it made him wonder if he would be able to do what a kingdom full of people expected of him. He pined for the security of being no one in particular, with no one expecting anything from him, an unknown face among the teeming crowds and dark shadows.

  When Roald’s story was complete, Marshal Pumblennor asked Gully if would be impertinent of him to ask for his story. Pumblennor said that the very idea that the true eldest son of King Colnor had grown up in the city, unknown and under their very noses with no one the wiser, was absolutely remarkable. Gully obliged and gave him a brief account of his life, stressing Roald’s repeated attempts to make an honest man of him. It left Roald’s cheeks rosy and shy for most of the story.

  Unexpectedly, Raybb spoke up and asked, “Pardon my curiosity, but how is it that this Domo Regent managed to steal you away at your birth to have you killed?”

  Gully said, with a genuine warmth, “Raybb, your curiosity is welcome anytime. I will share with you what we’ve pieced together from Almonee, who was the only witness to that night until we can capture Krayell himself.”

  “Apparently, during the birth, Almonee believes Krayell had already poisoned Queen Sophrienne with a drug, but a slow acting one so it would not be as obvious. When I was born, I was quiet and Krayell took me from Almonee immediately, insisting I was tragically still-born. He commanded her to say no more about it to anyone for the good of the kingdom and took me away. He likely handed me over to one of his men to have me killed, or sold into slavery. I assume the man took me to sell me no matter what Krayell’s intention was, and probably my father, Ollon, stopped the evil act and took me in as his own son instead, having no idea whom I was or from where I came.”

  “While Krayell was disposing of me, and thinking his victory would be complete once Sophrienne died, he did not realize that Almonee was busy delivering my twin brother, Thaybrill. By the time Krayell showed up and realized Sophrienne had given birth to twins, it was too late to claim that Thaybrill was also still-born. Krayell was forced to accept the birth of a crown prince even as Sophrienne’s life faded and ended later that night.”

  Marshal Yorghen exclaimed, “Unbelievable! And to think Lord Marshal Jahnstlerr was a part of this all along! I never would have believed the man was capable of such despicable acts!”

  “Your Highness and Prince Thaybrill were very lucky to be able to trust Roald the way you did. And Roald was very lucky with how he ran the campaign today! The stars have blessed him well!” commented Marshal Pumblennor.

  Gully stood and commented drily, “I do not believe it was luck. I do not believe it was the grace of any stars above throwing fortune at his feet. I think that it was due to skill
and talent. I’ve known him as long as I’ve known anyone, and ‘luck’ is not something he needs in any quantity.’

  The Marshal Adjunct turned bright red, seeing how much he had offended the prince regent. He began to offer his apology, but Gully raised his hand up to him to have him hold his breath.

  Gully turned away, his mind now made up on a matter that had been in his thoughts for a few days. He had thought about it as he traveled the South Pass Road in the dark of night, trying to decide the right time. All of the possible scenarios he had concocted flew away from him, and he decided that now was the time. He needed for this to happen at this moment.

  Gully went to the opening of the tent and requested that everyone follow him outside. There were questioning glances, but no one voiced them out loud and everyone stepped out into the rolling fields south of East End. He led them out into the open, where the sun was rising over the steep, craggy faces of the Sheard Mountains. He shouted to additional swordsmen as he passed them, demanding they join the group as well and follow him.

  He only stopped when a disturbance nearby caught his attention, the shouts and warnings of some guardsmen reaching his ears from near the tents they had just left. Gully squinted into the light to see what was causing the commotion, then he relaxed and smiled to himself at the sight of two very tired wolves running after the group. He had wondered how long he would manage to stay ahead of them.

  Many of the soldiers were still nervous at the presence of the balmors, and two wolves the size of Gallun and Gellen did not bolster their confidence, but they managed courage enough not to flee the other direction at the sight of them. The soldiers merely cleared a wide path and kept a wary eye on the wolves as they trotted tiredly through.

  Gallun and Gellen arrived at Gully’s side, panting as if all the air in the world would not be enough. Gully said to the soldiers gathered around, “Who has a skin or two of water? I have two wolves here that I’m certain just ran all the way from Lohrdanwuld, probably without stopping.”

  A couple of soldiers offered their skins to him and Gully said, “Transform yourselves and have some water before you faint away. I do not need two more casualties on my conscience today.”

  Gallun and Gellen shifted to human form and took the skins, drinking the water in desperate quaffs.

  “How did you manage to find me?” asked Gully.

  Gellen did not stop drinking. His eyes conveyed the irritation he felt at Gully for sneaking off in the night and leaving them behind. Gellen merely pointed at his nose and nodded.

  “Ah,” said Gully, “you tracked me by my scent. I am not used to being so obvious that way. In honesty, though, it is good to see you.”

  Gallun was smiling by this point, but Gellen continued to frown as he finished the water in the skin. He gave Gully a light shove in the shoulder to show his continued disapproval, drawing a smile from him.

  Gully turned and led the group further out into the field, into the wide open, with an accumulated crowd of Kingdom Guard numbering thirty or forty following curiously along, before he stopped. The dew still on the grasses of the field clung to their boots and the amber light of the sun barely over the mountain range threw their shadows far across the open meadow.

  Gully said loud enough for all of them to hear, some trepidation in his voice, “I have no idea what the protocol is for this, so I shall invent it as I go. Forgive my ignorance, Marshals Pumblennor and Yorghen, but I will not wait on this, and if I am to be prince regent, then I insist on this now.”

  Gully stepped forward to Roald and asked for his bare sword. Roald complied, albeit with a confused look, and removed his blade from the sheath on his belt, and then he placed it carefully in Gully’s hands.

  Gully drove the point of the sword into the soft earth so that it stood upright between the two of them on its own.

  “Roald Delescer, kneel before your sword and place both of your hands on the haft,” he said.

  Roald did as he was asked and gripped the handle of his sword with both of his hands, his eyes questioning Gully but his mouth remaining closed. As Roald had done, Gully lowered himself to his knees while facing the lieutenant.

  Marshal Pumblennor stepped forward and interjected, “Sire, forgive me! I am not sure what your intentions are here, but it is wholly improper for the prince regent to kneel before one of the Kingdom Guard! Perhaps if you tell me what sort of ceremony you intend, I will be able to handle it for...”

  Gully’s face tinged florid at the interruption and at his own ignorance of how any of this should work. He took a deep breath and placed his hands on the sword, on top of Roald’s.

  “Sire...” insisted Marshal Pumblennor.

  Gully looked pained and torn about making a fool of Roald with what he was attempting, of doing this entirely wrong. But he knew he needed to do this now. He knew he needed to do it, no one else. This moment, not later.

  Gully held up a hand at the Marshal Adjunct, but did not take his eyes off of Roald. He said weakly, “I accept that I insult your traditions and expectations, Marshal, but... I will not wait on this, even if it means I must invent this as I go.”

  Marshal Pumblennor dipped his head, the tiniest amount necessary to not be insolent, and backed up a step. If Gully had been listening more carefully, he would have been certain that he heard Pumblennor mumble, “You are correct about the insult.” What he did not mistake was the low growl of anger coming from Gellen’s throat after Pumblennor’s comment.

  Gully chose to ignore it and placed his own hands on top of Roald’s so that they both held the sword between them.

  “Bow your head, please, Roald.”

  Roald obeyed.

  “Roald, today is the 24th day of Waxing Summer, 386 IR,” said Gully, making sure everyone gathered around would hear, “This morning you have performed a service to every man, woman, and child of this realm, and we are all, myself included, indebted to you for it. You have proven yourself beyond anyone’s doubt with bravery, with cunning, and with leadership in the dark chaos of a crisis few others with very long memories would have the misfortune to recall. For your service and from this moment on, I hereby name you Lord Marshal Roald Delescer of the Kingdom Guard.”

  Roald’s head jerked up and his mouth dropped open, his eyes begging answers to a thousand unspoken questions.

  Gully’s eyes ran across the crowd gathered, searching for doubt or scorn among them. He said sharply, “After the events of this morning, is there anyone present that would be brave enough to question my judgment on this?”

  No one said anything. No one barely even moved. Gully worried that this would earn the disfavor of the Marshal Adjuncts. He worried that this would put Roald in a sore position among them. He worried many things as he glanced around. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he noticed that the ocelot seemed to have a faint smile upon his face, which gave him assurance that he was acting correctly and had the support of at least one.

  He turned back to Roald, and continued to hold his hands firmly to the handle of the sword. He locked his gaze once again with Roald’s, and for a moment there were no others beyond the two of them in the field. Both of them sensing the nine dead there with them, witnessing what their deaths had purchased. It was almost too much for Gully and he began to speak, felt the words die in his throat, and had to start again. He managed to whisper, “I know what is in your heart at this moment. You know that I feel it, too. I share the pain of this victory with you. Despite it being necessary, you and I will always carry it with us, even to our last days. Thank you for your sacrifice, Roald. Thank you for protecting us.”

  Roald’s face turned down, his lips pulled tight, and a tear or two fell from his eyes to join with the dew on the grass at his knees. Gully kept his hands wrapped tight around his foster brother’s as they held the sword together, both glad for the strength and support they felt through the touch.

  Gully allowed Roald a moment to gather in all that had happened and compose himself, then stood while
Roald’s eyes stayed down, his hands still gripping his sword. He watched him for a moment more and felt along with his brother the pride mixed with the sense of melancholy.

  For Roald’s sake, he would not let him dwell too long on the melancholy. Gully shouted for all to hear, “Rise up, Lord Marshal Delescer, and take your sword. You have the gratitude of a kingdom whose safety and liberty you have assured!”

  All around them, the swordsmen of the Guard, Raybb and Encender and the other balmors, and Gallun and Gellen, shouted and clapped and cheered.

  Chapter 31 — Fleas And Humility

  Several nights later, Gully was punished with the worst of his new life as a veLohrdan — he had to attend a feast celebrating his imminent coronation with all of the noble families of Iisen. Worse, Roald had steadfastly held to treating him as a royal instead of the person he had grown up with, leaving Gully feeling isolated and adrift.

  Gully shuffled the food around on his plate with a lackluster appetite, while there was spirited conversation among the noble lords and ladies of Iisen all around the massive banquet table in the Dining Hall. The clinking of gilded goblets and chased flatware on plates did not even register with him, nor did the movement of servers keeping the platters of food full and the goblets filled.

  “I, for one, look forward to the celebration after the coronation! If there’s one benefit to being rid of Krayell, it’s that the old tightwad isn’t around to clamp down his bony claws on the purse strings, as was his preference! I expect this one to be quite extravagant!” said a resonant voice from the far end of the table. Agreements and assent to the comment came from all around the room, particularly the nobles’ wives.

  The remark reached Gully’s ears while he picked lightly at his barely-eaten smoked trout, fresh from the River Tib. The dinner had started out boring and only gotten worse as the evening progressed and had robbed him of all appetite. He went back to ignoring the conversation at the table and pushed the bits of fish around on the finely crafted glass plate in front of him. The plate reminded him faintly of one that Roald had in his apartment, one that his father had made as part of a set for a rich merchant and then kept when he realized he had made one too many.