Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1)

by Alan Ratcliffe

  “Is everything all right, my lord?” Bergen asked, concerned.

  “Where is the north?” Adelmar growled. “Every city south of the mountains fulfilled the requirements of the Treaty, but no others. Where are the fighters of Westcove, of Whitecliff?”

  “There was a pigeon from Lord Østergaard, expressing regret that storms had prevented two ships carrying troops from leaving their harbour,” his adjutant replied. “We also had messages from Lords Qvist and Meier stating that our previous birds had not arrived, and that by the time they received our latest summons it was too late to dispatch soldiers from Westcove. There was no reply of any kind from the other Fisher Houses.”

  “And the hunters? What of them?”

  “Only silence, my lord.”

  Adelmar’s jaw clenched. “Excuses and contempt, that’s all we received from the northern lords. I warned my father this would come to pass once we brought our strength south. The barbarians grow bold, believing themselves protected by the mountains. A full-scale revolt will not be far off.”

  “What can be done?” Bergen asked.

  “For now, nothing.” Adelmar snorted derisively. “Let them have their fun for the time being. There’s still strength enough at War’s End to keep them bottled up. We’ve crushed them before and will do so again after we return triumphant from subjugating the Tenebrian courts. This time I will not be as merciful as I was in my youth.” He turned to face the younger man. “You’re from Whitecliff, are you not, captain? What game do you think Østergaard is playing?”

  Bergen hesitated, considering the question. “It is possible that storms have prevented his troops from departing,” he conceded. “Such bad weather is not unknown in those parts at this time of year. But he is a cautious man, who believes himself cunning. More likely he prevaricates, waiting to see the likely outcome of the war before committing himself to supporting either the Crown or the other northern houses.”

  Adelmar grunted. “Much as I suspected. Well, let him sit idle in his keep for now, counting his gold. His indecision won’t spare him the sword when we march north.” If the talk of a retaliation against his people bothered the younger soldier, he did not show it.

  When the last ranks of soldiers had passed by, followed by over a dozen wagons piled high with food, equipment and other supplies, Adelmar dug his heels into the flanks of his mount and trotted towards the head of the column, Bergen riding close behind.

  A short time later, he reached the regiment from his father’s household guard, who marched beneath the imperial standard. These were the soldiers that had been placed under Jarrod’s command, but of his brother there was no sign. Instead, he found his brother’s squire leading a dark-coloured courser rather disconsolately by the reins. The horse was draped with finery of vermillion and gold thread, and was also riderless. “Where is he?” Adelmar asked the boy, gruffly. He caught the eye of Jarrod’s own second-in-command, Trayner, who smirked.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord, but he’s over there.” The nervous squire, pointed towards a large wheelhouse near the front of the column. Adelmar cast dark looks towards the back of the magnificent carriage that spanned nearly the entire width of the road, and spurred his mount on once more.

  When he drew level with the wheelhouse, Adelmar rapped sharply upon the side. The blind that had been drawn down covering the window flew up, and Ellara peeped out, eyeing him with surprise. “Is anything the matter, dearest?” she asked.

  Adelmar passed his reins to Bergen, and gestured for his wife to open the door to the carriage. When he jumped inside, he found Jarrod reclining among silk cushions, apparently in the middle of regaling his family with some doubtlessly inappropriate account of his misadventures. Amelie and Rosalynd sat opposite him behind an array of sweetcakes, giggling into their hands.

  “Addled!” his brother cried as Adelmar entered the carriage. “How wonderful of you to join us. We were just gossiping about which ladies of the court had committed the most egregious sins against fashion this season, but I’m sure we could steer the conversation towards matters more to your liking. A po-faced diatribe on the nature of honour, or somesuch.” Jarrod grinned lopsidedly and took a long quaff from a pewter goblet.

  Adelmar scowled down upon his brother. “Are you drunk?” he demanded. “Damn your eyes, it’s barely past noon!”

  “That’s only a concern if you start drinking early. I, continuing as I am from our little soiree last night, am merely drinking very late.” Jarrod waved the goblet unsteadily, slopping some of the contents onto the floor of the carriage. “If I must accompany you on this ghastly procession, then I have no intention of doing so sober.”

  Jarrod protested as Adelmar stepped forward and grabbed the goblet from his hand. He slammed it pointedly down upon the table. The girls jumped at the sound. “Why are you here, Jarrod?” he asked. “It’s clear that it isn’t your wish and even father seemed less than convinced.”

  Infuriating him even further, his brother yawned and stretched out luxuriantly among the cushions. “A prince should see more of his kingdom. It is good for the common folk to see my face. You never know, I may one day be emperor and such things will be expected of me.”

  Adelmar offered up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t live to see such a day. “Yet you hide in here, bothering my family,” he replied.

  “Oh father, Uncle Jarrod isn’t bothering us,” cried Amelie. “He tells the funniest stories.”

  The thought of the sort of stories his brother habitually told reaching the ears of his daughters was the final straw. “And when we reach the coast, and set sail? Will you continue to loaf about uselessly as we charge into battle? Your men march without their commander. As unfit to lead as I personally believe you to be, that is unacceptable. In my army, you will obey my rules.”

  “Do you not make concessions to your own family?” Jarrod asked, folding his arms insolently.

  “I already have,” Adelmar snarled. “If you weren’t my brother you would have already been stripped, flogged and left by the side of the road for the crows.”

  “Fine then,” said Jarrod, stifling another yawn as he rose. “Never let it be said of me that I outstay my welcome. My lady,” he added, stooping to plant a foppish kiss upon Ellara’s hand, “my thanks for your hospitality. It is good that my brother married into manners, for he lacks them himself.”

  With that parting shot, Jarrod left the wheelhouse. Through the rear window, Adelmar watched him make his way back to the regiment of imperial guardsmen, and clamber into the saddle of the dark courser. “A shame he didn’t fall off and land upon his head,” he muttered under his breath. “It might have knocked some sense into it.”

  “You can be very harsh on your brother,” chided Ellara. She settled herself back down at the table and poured tea for herself and the girls. “He can be very fine company when you aren’t around to wind him up.”

  Adelmar grunted. “I have often noted that we bring out the worst in one another,” he conceded. “But whether I am present or not, he is always lazy and feckless. Father should have been tougher with him, but instead he indulged him. The thought that he actually could inherit the throne terrifies me.”

  His wife sipped at her steaming tea. “Perhaps that is why the emperor bade him accompany you, so that you can be an example to him.”

  “Perhaps.” Adelmar scowled. “If that was his intention, then I fear it comes far too late.” By about twenty years.

  Ellara sighed wistfully. “Still, just imagine the songs the bards will sing, of the noble brothers riding together into battle, shoulder to shoulder.”

  Adelmar snorted. “The only thing Jarrod will be riding will be the camp whores.” Amelie and Rosalynd giggled at his coarse language, and he reddened at the faux pas. “That is, he won’t be in the front lines. Evidently, he’s to see how an army fights a war, without actually taking part in it himself.”

  “Your father is just being sensible. Your brother wasn’t raised to be a warri
or.”

  Adelmar frowned as he recalled some of the rumours that had reached his ear during their stay in the capital, concerning his brother’s habits. “I just wish I knew what he had been raised as,” he said gloomily.

  Ellara tutted. “He just needs a wife to settle him down.”

  Adelmar thought about that. There was no shortage of lords with eligible daughters vying with one another for such a tie to the imperial family, but neither Jarrod nor their father had thus far been particularly eager to take up any of the offers. With his thirtieth year fast approaching, however, it was surely only a matter of time. I pity the poor woman he takes as his bride.

  He was still brooding over Jarrod, when he noticed his eldest daughter was clutching at something around her neck. He had been occupied with thoughts of his wayward brother at the time, but it now occurred to him that her hand had flown up the moment he entered the wheelhouse. “Amelie, what are you holding?” he asked. He tried to speak kindly, but his daughter still appeared startled.

  “It’s just some trifle she picked up at the marketplace,” said Ellara hurriedly.

  Adelmar ignored her, and stood over the girl. “Show me.” His voice was soft, but firm enough to brook no disobedience. Grudgingly, she opened her fingers to reveal a silver chain, from which hung a green crystal pendant. Adelmar stared at it. Somehow, he had already known, from the moment he had seen her guilty expression. “Did you know about this?” he asked his wife, without turning.

  “What does it matter?” Ellara’s tone was light, but Adelmar detected a trace of nervousness. “We don’t follow their faith, nor will we. It’s just a pretty necklace. These things matter to young girls.”

  He felt anger rising up inside him, but fought to control it. Without speaking, he reached for the pendant and broke the chain with a sharp tug. What followed caught him completely off-guard.

  When the chain was pulled free of her neck, Amelie, the happy, carefree girl he had showered with all the love and affection he had to give, rose up, hissing like a wildcat. There was a fury in her eyes that chilled Adelmar to the bone. He was too shocked to react as her hand struck out at his face, her nails raking along his cheek like claws.

  Pandemonium erupted in the carriage. Over his initial surprise, Adelmar grabbed hold of his daughter’s hands. She thrashed against him, viciously kicking out with flailing legs. Where they struck the low table, cups filled with hot liquid and platters of cakes went flying. As Rosalynd began to wail, Ellara tugged at his back, imploring him to stop.

  Adelmar had never raised a hand in anger against his daughters, but in that moment he came close. Instead, with Amelie dangling from his hand, he opened the nearest window and hurled the pendant out. When she saw that it was gone, the fight went out of the eldest girl. He released her and she slumped back on her seat, curling up into a weeping ball.

  Ellara sat down between the two girls and drew them close to her, comforting them. “Was that really necessary?” Her tone was cold and accusatory. “She has been so happy in the days since she came back with that necklace. Only this morning she was telling me about the sweet dreams she has had the past few nights. Now look at them.”

  Adelmar made no reply. Anger still burned within him, and he didn’t trust what might come out of his mouth if he tried to speak. Instead, he stared at them wordlessly for a few moments before striding to the door. As he jumped back into the destrier’s saddle, he could feel blood trickling down his cheek. Bergen glanced at him curiously, but kept his counsel.

  With a face like thunder, Adelmar rode to the head of the column, taking his place among the heavy cavalry. As he did so, he felt the eyes of his knights on him. Like his adjutant, however, they were wise enough to keep their comments to themselves. Nevertheless, he was sure that rumours of the incident would spread like wildfire around the camp that night and his jaw tightened.

  On a sudden impulse, Adelmar swivelled in his saddle and glanced behind. He caught one last sight of the city walls before they disappeared from view. Towering above all was the Spire, home of the Order. It seemed to him that darkening clouds gathered above its summit more thickly than elsewhere. Doubtless it was his imagination; a reflection of his own mood and opinion of the enigmatic Brothers.

  The rest of that first day’s march passed in a blur. He barely spoke another word to anyone and avoided returning to the wheelhouse. As they counted off the miles, his simmering anger eventually gave way to guilt. Had he acted rashly? Had he allowed his own antipathy towards the Order and its chattels to cloud his judgement, so that he had taken out his frustrations on a child who knew no better?

  Then he recalled the way her face had contorted with hatred when he had taken away the pendant. Hatred for him. He had never before seen Amelie, normally such a placid girl, behave in such a way. Was it simply because she was getting older... or something more sinister?

  His mind was still awash with such thoughts when he brought the army to a stop for the night. The signal-horns sounded out down the length of the column, and in short order the rows of marching soldiers came to a standstill. Dozens of squires ran around the men, hurrying to erect tents for the knights and nobility. The rank and file soldiers, meanwhile, gathered in groups around campfires to prepare food and swap stories.

  The sight of it lifted Adelmar’s spirits. He felt at home here, making camp among his troops. For the first time in weeks he felt free, away from the fawning courtiers and nebulous politics that plagued his father’s court. Strange as it would no doubt seem to his wife, he felt a hundred times more comfortable in riding leathers and breastplate than he did wearing the expensive formalwear she had chosen for him.

  For a time, he stood watching as Dudley and a number of the younger squires erected his royal tent, supervised by Captain Bergen. It would be a while before it was ready for him to retire, after which he would while away the night poring over scouting reports from The Vigil and maps of the Tenebrian coastline.

  With a grimace, Adelmar turned at last towards the wheelhouse. It was not sensible to pull such an unwieldy vehicle away from the road for just one night, so it still sat upon the flagstones. The horses had been untethered, however, and secured elsewhere.

  Unsure what he should say to his family after the episode that morning, he opened the carriage door hesitantly and climbed inside. A single lamp had been lit, bathing the occupants in flickering orange light. Rosalynd was picking delicately at a plate of food, but when he saw his elder daughter, Adelmar’s words of greeting caught in his throat. Amelie was unconscious, lying wrapped up in blankets. She was not at rest however; her eyes were screwed tightly closed, her face twisted as if in pain. Her arms and legs writhed weakly beneath the blanket. A damp cloth had been laid over her brow, and Ellara sat at her side, wearing a worried expression.

  “What has happened?” Adelmar demanded, moving towards them.

  His wife looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “A fever came upon her some hours ago,” she told him. “She was a long time upset after you left, and kept asking after her necklace. At one point she became so agitated I had to restrain her from leaving the carriage to go and look for it.”

  Adelmar stared down at the stricken girl, at a loss of what to do. She is so pale. “A doctor travels with us,” he suggested. “Rather, he is a surgeon, more accustomed to sewing up wounds than dealing with children, but I could fetch him.”

  “He has already been,” Ellara replied, dabbing her eyes. “He gave her a draught to help her sleep and told me to keep her cool to alleviate the fever, but beyond that there was nothing more he could do.” She stroked the girl’s head. “The draught has helped some, but even so she still cries out, asking for the necklace.”

  Just then, Amelie’s hands lifted out from under the blanket, and groped feebly at the air. “Please,” she murmured. “I need it. It sings...”

  He watched as the girl fell silent again, her hands dropping back to the blanket. In his chest, his heart felt as though it would break. “I’
m sorry,” he whispered. “If I had known what would happen...”

  “It isn’t your fault,” Ellara replied softly. “The sickness must have been inside her already, to have come on so quickly. Perhaps the argument this morning brought it on sooner, but even if we had stayed behind she would have fallen ill eventually. Only you would have been too far away to help.”

  In truth, Adelmar had not intended to apologise for bringing his family along with him on their march. It had not occurred to him that it could be to blame for her illness. Rather, he was sorry that he had confronted Amelie over the necklace. He had always thought of them merely as gemstones. But what he had seen in her face that morning... there was a madness to it, a desperation. He had no idea how it was even possible, but he had begun to suspect that the stone had somehow taken a hold of her mind, beyond the normal attachment children had to their favoured belongings. “I am here,” he said. “But I don’t know how I can help.”

  “Just stay with her, Adelmar,” his wife replied, moving aside to make room beside the bed. “Comfort her. She needs her father. I’ll take Rose out for a walk, it will be good to stretch our legs after a day cooped up inside here.”

  His wife and youngest daughter left the carriage, leaving him alone with Amelie. He cleared his throat as if to say something, but felt self-conscious and kept silent. Instead, he reached for the girl’s hand and wrapped his fingers around it. She would soon see her thirteenth summer, he knew, but lying there she still seemed so small to him, so childlike. Her hand was almost lost inside his own.

  Adelmar lost track of how long he sat there, wordlessly watching his daughter’s fitful sleep. He barely noticed his wife and Rosalynd returning some time later, but after they had prepared for bed and turned out the lamp, he continued to sit in the darkness that followed.

  He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have done at some point in the night, for he stirred as the light of the dawn touched the carriage interior. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling the ache in his back from a night spent seated in one position. Ellara and the girls were still sleeping, and even Amelie appeared more peaceful than she had the previous evening. He crept outside so as not to disturb them.