by B. H. Young
"Sir Delmuth Langister is leading Lord Orlpar Theodas's Honor Guard into the west," Willem said and placed a carved statuette on the region. "They will be at Aelmount's gates in a few days time, knocking for Lord Merop de Berville, who I should think will not present too much trouble."
Lord Edwin held key positions along the border with his bannerkyn's hands and seizing them was pivotal if Willem planned to rally into Castle Benwin in time.
"Sir Delmuth," Lord Eluard Pyral scoffed. He stood with a long healed gashing of claws along his face and a narrow glare with one eye. "Lowly fucking Morkver Elves, temperamental scheming bastards they are."
Willem pushed his eyes up to Eluard, not amused with his bigotry, and paid him a smug look. The other Elven races looked down on the Morkver Elves, considering them the lesser of the races. Men such as Lord Eluard were from a different time that held a different way of thinking. As far as Willem was concerned, Elves, regardless of race, were the true kings of the world not to be remarked in scorn by their own.
"That is precisely why they are applicable candidates in war."
"I don't trust Dark Elves," Eluard said. "For good reason, they're vile gutter grime with nary a difference from a Vilmhan."
"There was a time when they said the same thing about our people, Lord Eluard, about all Elves. House Theodas are tried and true. I do not need you to trust them, what I do need is for you to mind your intolerant tongue as I have no time for bitter grudges and in-fighting," Willem said and Eluard lowered his eye.
"Sir Braytheon Einbund, the Hammering Bear, is the captain of Aelmount's guard. His forces are not to be taken lightly," General Iestyn Hagduin said, brushing at his forehead with a glint of concern. He was the smallest in the room, his puffed chest only offset by his large gut, but he was skilled.
"Nor will they be." Willem slid another statuette past Aelmount and tapped his finger to the map. "While Sir Delmuth, seizes Aelmount, Darfin Mathayus, will take his forces to Locfield further upriver. Once these two Valhur supporters are fallen, we will control the border." He threw a low squint to Lisim who was standing piqued. "Minus Shepherds Hammer of course."
"And what word of Lord Edwin sending a battalion this way my lord?" asked Lord Ardryll Onsith. His long shaped chin hairs draped over his crossed arms and his collar stood tall pushing at the bottoms of his ears.
"That is why you all are standing here," Willem said. "While the others secure the border and attack lesser positions bleeding Lord Edwin of coin, we will wait here for the bulk of his forces. He thinks to have us at a disadvantage with our position. He will soon realize the disadvantage is his. The crag is too sharp on the sides to trek an army up and it would take days for them to flank only to find a wall of rock as straight as one built by man. The western path is heavily fortified and too tapered for the full brunt of an army. That leaves them the only option of a straight advancement through Mol Glade."
General Iestyn pressed up closer to the table giving a huff and said, "What's to say they're not already here? My men have seen lantern hazes in the deep of the woods at night--"
That drew response from the biggest shadow in the room. "If you're fucking men are up so late as to see light in the glade then tell them to get off their asses and get in there after it. I'm certain a squabble with some scouts will wake the rest of us," Sir Vaine Murdoth, The Mammoth, barked. A square face of chalky skin with a hint of bruise and inked symbol running from above his left eye and tucking behind his ear. The Elven knight stood three heads taller than others did and just as wide with strength.
Cutting between the pending arguments sure to rise from Sir Vaine's bluntness, General Vesryn Sheyryth craned his head up to Willem and said, "We will meet them when they pass through then?"
"You all will stand ground at the woods edge while I take a brigade to Fort Brittlestalk," Willem said.
"The cursed Fort?" said Lord Aquilan Jhassin in a halting voice. His narrow face sagged in a stiff melting of skin like an abused candle, and next to Sir Vaine's outfit, he was the more superstitious.
Brittlestalk sat deep in Mol Glade's shrub reaching the high point of its keep atop the trees desperately to free itself from the roots of the forest. The only curse Willem could see was a bad location by its former occupants when Mol Glad was but mere seeds. Empty-headed nobles misgauging of where to have a castle built would now have use, hundreds of years later.
The Lord Aquilan's injection of superstitious warning did not interest him. "Nothing haunts that place but the wildlife that calls its decrepit halls home or the groups of bandits that like to pretend they are kings. Either way, I will position my troops in the old fastness and advance on the Valhurs from behind when they cross the stream, pushing them out to you all."
"My lord, what of Shepherds Hammer?" Lisim asked, with a hesitation in his breath that equaled the glare in his eyes.
Willem could see the uneasiness Lisim was harboring. He had not even winced from that look since entering the tent and he knew his cousin would not stand idle for long. What man would not find himself in a foul mood at the news that their brother had been butchered?
"What of it?" Willem said pushing a hard breath through is nose.
"Are we to leave it be?"
Willem glanced up to his generals, then planted his eyes to Lisim, and said, "For the time being, it's not like there is a choice in the matter anymore."
"Neldor was slain by two of the Sister Sirens in ways I dare not imagine. Do we not give a proper answer to do him justice?"
Knighted women within House Valhur whose skills in combat were impeccable. Women who go beyond the bickering trials warriors must face and rise above it all to be something more. Only three women are ever accepted into the order of the Sister Sirens. Fools passed them off as showpiece knights, but Willem had no such thoughts. With the killing of Neldor they proved to be an ego-shattering thorn in his side.
He tightened his jaw and pressed his fingertips hard into the wooden top, choosing not to look at Lisim. "Let us not forget he also took two hundred troops to the grave with him. Shepherds Hammer was to be a pinnacle point for us. Perhaps your brother should have waited for reinforcements as he was told to do rather than thinking he could sack the damn hammer by himself. We no longer have the element of surprise to lay siege due to his ignorant ambition and Shepherds Hammer is likely fortified six miles out now," Willem said.
"Killed by fucking women that's an insult worthy of shit," Sir Vaine said and Lisim regarded him with a cool stare.
"Neldor was blood, much to my disbelief over the many years, his death will be answered for in time, but initial strategy must be maintained."
"Strategy, two days in and all we have done is sack a dozen towns and villages of little importance," Lisim said in a challenging voice.
Willem slammed his hands to the table and jumped to his face, leaning into his ear and said, "It's a message. It says I'm here and I'm coming." He stepped back swiping his eyes up and down Lisim, who stood shaken. "Do you understand?"
"Very well my lord," Lisim said, sounding in agreement but his eyes did not reflect it.
Geryn ducked into the tent and stood with his hands under his sleeves clenched to his front. His soil shaded Elven eyes never allowed for an assumption to his thoughts or the news he would bring. But Willem had known him long enough to see past his mask of secrecy and know the news behind those eyes would be better not heard.
"Leave us," Willem said to his men.
Geryn stood with an empty posture as the men passed him by and Willem saw him studying the piece of blackened parchment on the table's edge. His attention seemed more concerned with its contents than saying what he came to say.
Willem picked it up and appraised it. "Message from Overlord Withlem. Such theatrics," he said.
"It was bound to come, my lord," Geryn said and stepped up to the table.
"The Eldafienden have survived for thousands of years due to its ability to remain in the shadows. Their existence and membe
rs passed off as nothing more than rumors and conspiracy. Incarcerated Sentinels that could not remain silent labeled as fools who gibbered in nonsense. But the Overlords are more concerned with the loss of self-wealth and Overlord Withlem fears his taking of the throne may now be in jeopardy," he said.
"Begging your pardon my lord, but he has good reason." Geryn stepped back a bit and lowered his head.
"He has no reason. I have served them faithfully my entire life, made them rich beyond means and have asked nothing in return. Do they think me not capable? The kingdom has been entrenched in the war along Vyhoven's shores for months now, what is a mere civil dispute to make any difference? Our plan has been successful thus far. If Overlord Withlem fears war then he is in for an awakening because I assure you King Norindale will not willingly just hand the throne over no matter the uprising of stewards."
"They are peculiar with their rules my lord."
Willem held the black parchment up once more and turned it in his hand. "The black, inked in gold, is to serve as a stern warning. You know the last Harbinger to receive one of these was hung."
"I believe your wealth as Harbinger is beyond others of long ago combined my lord."
"They will demand my life if they catch wind that the Blackphisk has been stolen from me, for that I have no doubt. It would make no difference if I had gotten it back as they would deem me unworthy and slay me just to send a message they will not tolerate such failure even in the highest ranks of the Order."
"They are just on anxious ground at such time my lord. They simply are nervous that our efforts may be for not."
"Yet they are not the ones in the trench seeing to it personally. They sit in their ivory towers commanding others to do the hard work and if it fails whom do you think falls in the process? Past certain we do. We would all be ousted and the King and the Iron High Guard would fight like savage dogs over who gets to deal punishment to us. Either way, it would not be pleasant or quick I assure you of that. But the Overlords, they would remain safe and hidden as always," Willem said and picked his goblet from the table and took a sip of wine.
"Such is the way it's always been my lord."
"I'd wager the Harbingers of Dyerwin and Northanos would stand with me. Let Overlords Retel and Jedin worry about their own kingdoms."
"I would think most could not fault you for seeking vengeance. It seems a victory over Lord Edwin is all but certain."
He placed the message back to the table and looked to Geryn. "Lord Edwin has more fight in him than I gave him credit for. I've been informed that he is sending a bulk of his most skilled soldiers to descend on Maiden Fields. Of course, he will not be leading them, too afraid of getting his hands dirty. Nevertheless, I consider that good information." His skin bunched up around his eyes and he gave Geryn a pained stare. "I know that look I know you are not here to relieve me of my torment. Nor are you here to listen to me ramble about the hierarchy of the Eldafienden." Willem crossed his arms and let loose a deep sigh. There was no delaying the inevitable and he had already accepted it. "Dethal has failed has he not? Dead?"
Geryn bowed his head, gave pause, and then said, "He has my lord."
"And Lucinda and the Blackphisk are once again gone."
"Yes, my lord. It is believed she headed back into the southern lands."
A cold grip pulled at Willem's gut. He had thought to be prepared to hear it but held some small hope he would not have to. First Lestat and now Dethal, yet Lucinda was still alive and in possession of the ledger.
"Dethal was right, rats always seem to survive. Maybe I underestimated her too much. How could someone as irrelevant as she cause so much chaos with her actions?"
"Maybe she will come back on bended knee? It would not be the first time."
He knew Geryn had stood witness to the many spats between him and Lucinda but no matter how bad they were, she always came back fearing he would hunt her until the end of time. Willem took another sip of wine and then stared into the goblet. His reflection in the mauve brought a tranquil sense as if his levels of anger had gone beyond feeling.
"You know, I remember the day she was born, standing in the hall waiting for the news that Lestat now had a brother." He stared off and circled the edge of his glass with his finger. "It was cold that day, unlike any winter I've known. Looking back, I suppose that was appropriate." Willem chuckled and took a drink from his goblet. "Worthy Mathayus patriarchs only birth boys, a sign of the Gods approval for them to lead the name. I never gave merit to such dribbling nonsense nor the Gods that much for that matter. But I could remember in that moment when they had told me my wife birthed a girl... in that moment my mind reacted as if I had a brutal conviction to the wording of my forbearers my whole life.
"I expected to enter to find my wife cowering from this twisted monstrosity form sent by the Gods. Instead, she laid there in bed holding this little baby girl. Her eyes were as blue and bright as jewels. Not crying like other newborns, she just laid there looking with her big eyes at this new world she was now a part of and she was no monster... she was just a little baby girl. The most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Yet I pushed away from the happiness I should have had in that moment. The Gods had deemed me not worthy of my position as the head of this house, but this little baby girl new to the world, did not know of such illogical lineage tales. She did not know of the embarrassment it brought... and yet I blamed her, my little girl, Lucinda." Willem looked past Geryn to see that moment when his wife held Lucinda wrapped in a blanket of silk. "We sometimes create the monsters we cannot see," he said and struggled to grin.
"What do you wish to do my lord?"
Willem shrugged his lips and dropped his eyes back to the reflection in the wine. "Finish what I started, now, and so long ago," he said with a distance to his voice. "She will avoid detection. She was always good at hiding."
Geryn tilted his head and cupped his hands. "We have enough Sentinels, my lord. Just give the command and there will be no place for her to hide," he said.
"No." Willem scrunched up his brow and darted a low gaze at him. "No one else within the Eldafienden must know of this. I cannot risk a Sentinel getting hold of the ledger only to turn on me to gain favor with the Overlords. This is my burden. Hire a bounty hunter. The best that coin can buy and then double their rate," he said.
Bounty hunters held no greed for things outside of their contracts Willem knew. They do not seize opportunity to gain extra coin by betraying their benefactors. They hold their names and reputations above it all and go to great lengths to keep both noble. For a bounty hunter with a less than pleasing name and reputation would not last long in the occupation. He gave no worrying thought of the ledger in the hands of a bounty hunter. Sure, they may look upon its contents, but once it was back in his hands, he intended to kill them anyways.
"How about the Withercorts my lord," Geryn suggested.
"Nightsolt fiends last I heard. No. One that works alone and clear headed would be best."
"Very well my lord I will make the arrangements at once," Geryn said and then left.
He took a gulp of wine, savored a last foggy glimpse of his wife and Lucinda, and then walked from his tent to embrace the fresh air. A cool gust swept down the path between the tents, pressing at him and he took a deep breath and stared up at the tableland of Smiverian's Wall. His sight was not as youthful as it once was, but there was a shadow along the ridge looking out over the encampment. He leaned back into his tent and grabbed the spyglass off the small table.
The Being sat its dark horse high above the wall observing the encampment. Even with the spyglass, at that height the figure was a blur, wearing a dim cloak with two swords mounted to its back it appeared. Odd-looking hilts for swords, though, he thought. The observer shifted its cloaked head to Willem, he was certain, and lowered the spyglass as if caught like a degenerate spying naked maidens amid their chambers. It couldn't possibly know what eyes watched it from that height, Willem thought as he raised the spyglass once mo
re. But it did, The Being kept its marred glare fixed to Willem as it strolled atop Smiverian's Wall before sinking behind the rock broken sky.
It was not a Valhur scout that much he was sure about. But the real question that poisoned his thoughts as if some vague memory that refused to enter his halls and gift him familiarity to its presence was, what was it then? Willem looked around at the shuffling troops, breathing with an almost cautious lung and then entered back into his tent.
Chapter 39.
Godzton reached over throwing another piece of wood into the fire and tried not to look at Lucinda who sat on the other side of the pit with a snarling glare. They had traversed along the Tusser Range, across moors darkened with mist and down sprawling roads that veered off endless into the horizon for hours under the beautiful as blood sky. The Roltharian was not good riding company and spent the better part of their trip accusing him of being a pervert and that instead of taking the other horse he just wanted the gratifying feeling of her backside pressed against him.
Godzton assured her time and again that was not the case and he would not waste time chasing her down every time she tried to escape had he placed her on another horse. His words were truthful as were his intentions, but he could not deny there was some smidgen of feeling being at her back. Maybe it was the motioning of the horse or maybe he just tried to focus his thoughts to drown out her nagging? One thing he was certain of was that he was no dog of a man and would behave appropriately, as an Iron should. No matter who she was or what she had done, Lucinda was still a lady, albeit one with a scorpion tongue, but he'd be as courteous as a noble while she was in his custody.
The cloak he covered her with did smell of manure, but every so often, the wind would carry a bouquet of the Roltharian's scent back to him, it smelled of lavender with a suggestion of mint. He had told her in Balsfom he did not want to gander at her bare bottom but the truth was he'd not have turned away had she not asked him to do so. What man would not want to look? There was no enjoyment watching a woman urinate, but a mere glimpse of the Elf's slender curves would not have been so bad, though. Her agile thighs and round backside wore her trousers well and the bend of an hourglass paled in comparison to her. No honest man could say otherwise.