Shocked and confused cries rang out from above. The Wardsmen remained composed, though many had gone ashen.
“You killed them?” Aidan said, his voice barely a whisper.
“I’m sorry, son,” Edmund replied, though he did not sound it. His visage was ice covering stone. “It was our lives or theirs.”
“And you didn’t think,” Aidan began softly, “that after all these centuries of peace, after all these years of friendship, after there never once being any indication of malice toward Torel, that this matter was serious enough to require at least some investigation?” Everyone in the room had gone still as Aidan’s voice had risen. Staring at his son, Edmund remained silent. Aidan’s breathing echoed around the room as he clenched clammy fists.
“It doesn’t make any sense. Why would Romen attack you—a Gairden, the Eternal Flame, and the general of Torel’s Ward—with only twelve men? War chief or not, he couldn’t—”
“Those men were expertly trained,” Edmund said. “Surely you can understand—”
“They could have attacked you with dozens of men and you, you alone, could have handled them easily.”
The prince’s tone drew gasps from above. Struggling to control his tone, Aidan drew a deep breath.
“There has to be more to it than that. How did they know you two would be traveling with Tyrnen?”
“We informed the war chief and his pack of our travel plans before they departed,” Edmund said.
Aidan considered that. “But if they were going to organize an ambush, don’t you think it would have been in their best interest to make sure none of you came back alive? They would have needed more men. If Romen truly wanted to rule Torel, killing you and Mother would have been the best way to get things started. With you three out of the way, that would’ve left the kingdom vulnerable because—” He cut off, swallowing. Because I was moping around here without any idea what was happening.
“The thought of the Prince of Tears weeping into his pillows like a child is not an image I will soon forget,” Edmund said coldly.
Aidan stiffened. “That’s my point. They could’ve taken Torel before I even knew what was going on. Don’t you see? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
Edmund looked up to Cotak. “Why don’t we ask our friend?”
All eyes locked on to the spirit chief. Cotak’s arms trembled, making the ghostly apparitions that trailed up his biceps and chest shudder. He shook his head slowly.
“Your son raises many points, Edmund the Valorous,” he said at last, working through the words carefully.
Edmund’s fists clenched at his side. “You will address me as king, wildlander.”
The room went absolutely still. Aidan could barely breathe. Darinians wandered their deserts, carved cities from rock and abandoned them just as quickly when the urge to wander took hold. Most of the great cities of the north and east had been built by Darinian hands. To call a Darinian a savage was more than untrue. It was almost as grievous an insult as murdering his kin in cold blood.
Cotak had gone still. He gripped the rail in white knuckles. “You would insult my honor, king?” he said, biting into the last word.
Edmund tore off his right gauntlet and raised his arm, revealing a long gash. “Your war chief’s blade tasted my blood. I thought him a man of honor. I was mistaken.”
Cotak looked less sure of himself. “I know nothing of that. I—”
“Lies,” Edmund said, his mouth twisted. “Romen would not make such a bold play without first calling the clans together. Darinia’s deception goes deeper than an attempt on the Crown of the North’s life.” His face darkened. “You are in Calewind to conduct trades for supplies. Or so you say. How do we know you are not here to finish what your war chief started?”
Cotak had been shaking his head all through Edmund’s words. “I told you, I do not—”
“I’m afraid evidence mounts against you, clan chief,” Tyrnen said, stepping forward. “Perhaps I can help you all understand what transpired, as well as what is no doubt happening as we speak. I am sorry to say that the deceitful machinations of the clans have been in motion for quite some time. Following the attack, more news reached me by way of students enrolled in the Lion’s Den.”
Tyrnen paused, gathering a deep breath. “The wolf daughter has taken Sharem.”
Pandemonium erupted above. Nobles took to their feet, shaking their fists and shouting. Cotak’s eyes darted around, his shoulders hunched as if anticipating a blade buried up to the hilt. Below, the Wardsmen broke rank, turning to speak to those around them. Brendon barked commands that were lost in the din. Tyrnen raised his hands and the crowd gradually fell silent.
“The city was taken with swift and violent force by a small contingent of clansmen. The coup transpired on the day of Aidan’s ceremony, which I believe to be proof that Romen’s plot has been in motion for some time, now. As far as I can tell, the war chief’s visit to witness Prince Aidan’s Rite of Heritage was a ruse designed to steal our attention away from their actions at the border— actions orchestrated in part, no doubt, by their daughter.”
More shouting rang out from. Aidan shook his head. It can’t be true. I’ve known Romen and Cynthia. Nichel wouldn’t... Would she? He hadn’t seen her in years. If she hadn’t fallen ill, she would be on his arm right now as his wife. Or had she fallen ill? Was that part of the ruse—if there was a ruse?
His thoughts trailed off as his mother resumed speaking.
“... all saddened by the actions we are forced to take. As of this moment forward, Torel makes a formal declaration of war against Darinia.”
Aidan fought to keep himself upright. War.
Edmund stepped forward and pointed at Cotak, who was reaching for the blade at his back. Wardsmen burst through the door to the gallery. Nobles shied away from them as the Wardsmen fell on Cotak, shoving him to the floor and sending his blade skittering away. He struggled, roaring and flailing. Wardsmen flew from him, crashing against the walls. One man almost tipped over the rail before another Wardsman grabbed him and pulled him to safety. More Wardsmen stormed the gallery and fell on the clan chief.
“Throw him in the depths,” Edmund shouted. “He’ll find his kin waiting to keep him company.”
The Wardsmen—first five, now ten strong—pulled the clan chief, still shouting in Darinian, from the gallery. His shouts and the sounds of struggle faded away as the Wardsmen dragged their prisoner below Sunfall to dungeons that hadn’t been used in decades.
Annalyn rose from her throne, looking cool and composed. “What we are about to enter into will tear Crotaria apart, but I believe it is for the best. A temporary rift that, once healed, will make the realms stronger. Eternal Flame,” she continued, turning to Tyrnen, “where do the Touched stand?”
Tyrnen frowned, his hands lost inside his robes. Aidan sent him a silent plea. The old man’s gaze flickered toward him.
“I am a Torelian,” he said, holding Aidan’s gaze, “but the Eternal Flame does not belong to any one realm.” He looked away and faced Annalyn. “Yet given what I have witnessed and the other evidence made known to me, the Touched stand with Torel in this grave matter.”
The Crown of the North nodded, obviously expecting the response. “Our first objective is to free Sharem.” She turned to her son. “Prince Aidan, you will lead two hundred Wardsmen to drive the Darinians out of the city. Take it swiftly and quietly, if you can. Word cannot reach Nichel of our plans.”
Aidan felt his stomach lurch as he digested the command. All eyes in the room fell upon him, crushing him like thousands of rocks poured over him. He knew what Edmund and Annalyn wanted. They were waiting for him to make good on his promise. Tell me what I must do, and I will do it.
Something about this felt wrong. And yet, he had seen the wound on his father’s arm, one that had not been there before. If the Darinians were guilty, then he wouldn’t be killing innocent men; he would be enacting justice.
It must be done, he thought
, feeling his shoulders bow under the weight of the stares. For our people. For Mother and Father.
He took a breath.
—You know this is not right, Heritage cut in.
His mouth snapped shut. “What?”
Confused whispers broke out above him. Some of the Wardsmen eyed him warily.
Edmund stepped forward. “Your mother gave you a royal command.”
—This is not right. You know it. Will you be responsible for more death and destruction? Will you kill just because you have been ordered to do so?
“No.”
Edmund stepped closer, fixing him with blank eyes. “What did you say?”
Aidan felt sweat break out over his body. His heart hammered against his ribs, but he kept his gaze level. “I won’t do it.” His voice shook, but only a little.
Now Annalyn came slowly toward him, boxing him in. “You... won’t?”
“Mother, please, I beg you to look further into this matter. I believe something else is going on here. This is not right. If we take the time to ask more questions, perhaps talk to Nichel, we can—”
“You are content to sit around and look for answers we have already given you,” Edmund interrupted, “when Torelian lives could be lost by the second?”
“Even more lives will be lost if this war continues,” Aidan said.
“The time for talk and negotiation has passed,” Edmund snapped.
“But you haven’t even tried to—”
“This is the time for action boy. You gave us your word that you would do what must be done to repair the dishonor you have done to your mother’s line. The time has come to prove your worth.”
Aidan’s mouth worked soundlessly. What was he to do? They were asking him to kill, to take the lives of men he did not yet believe were guilty. Perhaps they were. Perhaps his mother and father were right.
—You know they are not.
The sword’s words were soft, barely a whisper, but Aidan grabbed hold of them as if they were a rope tossed to save him from drowning. He met his father’s stare. “I do not believe in this war. I refuse to take part in it.”
The room shuddered as a loud ringing noise filled his ears. He raised a hand to his cheek, mouth open in astonishment. His mother lowered her hand, her palm red.
She hit me. She hit me.
“You failed me when that sword rejected you, when the entire Gairden line rejected you,” she said, her tone cold and sharp. “If you refuse this offer, you are refusing me, and you are proving that my only son, the only child I will ever bear, is not strong enough. Not good enough. Am I so unimportant to you, Aidan? Is it so easy for you to shirk the future of our people?”
Aidan felt his resolve slough off like melting snow. He was tired of fighting: tired of trying to decide what he wanted and what he did not; tired of being told he was a failure, a disappointment.
“I’ll do it.”
He whirled, hand still cupped to his face as he strode toward the closed doors.
“Aidan,” Daniel whispered as the prince reached him.
“Open the doors.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“Open. The doors.”
They began to swing open. Aidan shouldered through, his mother’s stare digging into his back like a knife.
Chapter 10
Stains
AIDAN ABSENTLY FINGERED HIS Cinder Band—the gold loop once again hugged his right forefinger, at Tyrnen’s insistence—and trotted his horse to the head of the regiment. He creaked as he moved. He wore the mail his father had fashioned for him—heavy enough to turn back all but the strongest blows, yet light enough that he could move almost as easily as if he wore wool. Today, it felt heavy and tight.
The Lady peeked over the horizon, faint beams breaking through the slate-gray sky to caress the lamp once again fastened around Aidan’s neck. The clear vial stirred at her touch, emitting a faint luminescence. Aidan had immediately kindled upon setting foot outside Sunfall, but not even a heat bubble could melt away the chill he felt in his bones.
I’m only doing this because they forced me. I don’t want to do it.
Aidan turned his mount to face his charge. The Wardsmen ceased fidgeting with mounts, saddlebags, weapons, and armor, and looked up at him, waiting. The words he had stayed up all night preparing for their departure, for this moment, died on his tongue.
Why am I doing this? How did we even get here?
—Interesting questions, Aidan Gairden, the grandmotherly voice broke in. Why are you doing this, if you believe it to be wrong?
His jaw tightened. Annalyn had chosen to stay behind. Naturally, the sword-bearer kept Heritage by her side, or tucked away in the sword chamber, or any of a dozen other places within the palace and away from Aidan. Unfortunately for him, Heritage didn’t seem to care much about proximity. The voice had poked holes in his thoughts repeatedly since the disastrous conclusion to yesterday’s disastrous announcement, pestering him with the same question: Why?
“Stay out of my head,” he muttered.
—Someone needs to do the thinking in this relationship, and it obviously won’t be you.
I have a plan.
—Oh? Care to share?
No.
Shoving the sword from his mind—literally, he hoped—Aidan took a deep breath and gave up trying to recall his speech. It so happened that he did have a plan, and the grandiose words he’d prepared by candlelight did not fit with what he intended to attempt at Sharem. He settled for speaking from his heart.
“It is never easy,” he began, steadying his voice before continuing, “to do what it is we set out to do. Remember that you fight for Torel so that we can cultivate her land and work her metals into instruments of productivity instead of war. You fight so your children can grow up in a realm free of danger and strife, and as full of opportunity as limitless as the Lady’s light.”
He swept his gaze over the men. “I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to bring you back to this very spot.” He clapped his left fist to his chest. Two hundred fists echoed the salute, gauntleted fists ringing against chests coated in steel mail.
“For Torel!”
“For Torel!” the Wardsmen returned.
“For Torel,” a lone voice at the back of the columns called out.
Aidan watched his father gallop past the lines, slowing as he drew up to the prince. They faced each other in silence, the heat from yesterday’s bitter exchange hanging over them like a thunderhead ready to burst. Then Edmund dismounted and dropped to one knee. Stunned, Aidan’s mouth worked to form words.
“This is what you’ve trained for, son,” Edmund said, looking up. “What you march toward this day is the culmination of everything I have taught you.”
Aidan said nothing.
“I remember the day when you first asked to accompany me on a tour of the training grounds,” Edmund said, his voice trembling with pride. “I will never be able to teach my son how to wield a blade. That is not your gift. The Lady blessed you with Ordine’cin, and you are as extraordinary a Touched as has ever walked Crotaria, as your mother and Tyrnen say.”
Edmund rose. “But you have another gift, Aidan. You have an incredible mind, and you have used that mind to absorb the lessons I have taught you—lessons of leadership, discipline, and strategy. Those gifts will lead these men to victory. And I would like to be by your side to witness that victory, if you will have me.”
“If I will have you?” Aidan repeated. “You are General of Torel’s Ward.”
Edmund shrugged. “This is your campaign. The command is yours.”
Aidan regarded his father for a long time. “You may join me.”
Edmund bowed. “I predict this glory will be the first of many for you, son,” he said as he hoisted himself into his saddle.
“I don’t seek glory,” Aidan snapped. He turned and shouted a command. The gate began to crank open, and Aidan guided his horse down the mountain pass and into Calewind.
>
The march lasted eight days and seven nights. Each day, when the Lady tucked herself away for slumber, Aidan called a rest. Edmund grumbled about haste, but Aidan reasoned that the Wardsmen needed to conserve energy for the battle that awaited them.
“The people of Sharem are being held captive by an enemy,” Edmund said to Aidan the first night. They stood in his father’s tent. A table littered with maps stood between them. Edmund leaned forward over the table, fists planted against its surface. “Your pace is leisurely, as if we go to pay a visit to friends. Imposing a forced march could place two hundred men outside Sharem’s walls in four days, maybe three. Give the order.”
“No.”
Edmund slowly straightened. “Why?”
“This is my campaign, Father,” Aidan said, his voice calmer than he felt. “My men need to be rested. We halt at dusk and break camp every morning at dawn.”
“Very well,” Edmund said. “I don’t agree with your methods, but I will defer to you.”
Aidan searched his face but saw no sign of contradiction. Nodding, he joined Edmund at the table to go over the maps. Sharem sat in the heart of Crotaria where all four realms met, dividing up the trade city like a pie. The Temple of Dawn, a towering monument made from sparkling marble, sat in the very center of the city so that each corner of the temple touched one of the four realms. The Lion’s Den was located in Torel’s district amid dozens of laboratories, observatories, schools, and shops that dealt primarily in foods and academic supplies. Darinia’s district hosted smiths proficient in crafting all sorts of materials, mostly iron and steel. In the eastern district, Leaston’s wealthiest merchants kept a steady flow of goods coming in and heading out, contributing a great deal of the coin that flowed through Sharem like a dog chasing its tail until they spread out into the realms beyond.
Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles Page 8