by John Olsen
Their plan was to delay with a touch of bluff, so he skipped to the final bits of his scrapped speech. “We will escort you and your advisers to the capital for negotiations. I give you and your men my personal assurance and word of honor that you will be safe under my care. When discussions are complete and fully satisfied, you will be returned to your borders and released. The rest of your forces are to remain unarmed and under guard until discussions are complete and a proper escort can assure their safe return home. We leave for the capital in the morning.”
Gavin made a mental tally of his opponent’s forces. The rout at the end of the battle had cost them a great deal, mostly in injuries. Gavin’s people may have missed a couple of crystals, but they had confiscated those used to control nearly all of King Ithan’s war animals. He wouldn’t worry too much about them as an organized fighting force when movement required every able-bodied man to assist those who suffered from broken bones and other injuries.
Gavin would take a few of his uninjured people to the capital with him to watch over the king and his chief advisers. They could make it in a long day of travel. The remainder would use wagons to carry the injured and to escort the prisoners to arrive the day after.
Facing the enemy army, Gavin said, “Your Highness, please join me for dinner at sundown. You may bring two advisers with you.”
Gavin stepped back with Jase and Draken at his side.
Draken mumbled, “That will have to do, for now. I would have gone more traditional myself, but for you, it worked well.”
Gavin whispered back, “I just did that thing you do that I hate so much. Remember the way you give an invitation to do something that’s actually a command? I’m not turning into you, am I?”
The trio turned and marched back to the forces arrayed on the gentle slope.
“No, sir, you’re not turning into me. You never have, and you never will. I’ve come to realize I was never your crucible or refining fire no matter how much I wanted to be. What I wanted from you, what I asked for, or even what I demanded never changed you. Look up there.”
Draken pointed his chin at the people of the caravan scattered about the hillside and the camp above. “These people are your crucible. They’ve changed you. They did it by becoming your people. You helped by accepting them. They respect you because you care about them more than you care about yourself. That’s something I never taught you.”
Gavin stood on his toes to see the capital city main gate in the distance. It was the largest gate he had ever seen, set into a stone wall higher and thicker than any his imagination had prepared him to expect. The wall reminded him of the main hall of Stoutheart Barony’s castle, but it extended all the way around the core of the city. Where they had found so much stone was a mystery. Stoutheart Castle had been built from stone cut from the nearby hills, but here there was nothing but flat, slowly rolling plains for miles on one side, and sea on the other.
They passed through several outlying farms as they approached, then they passed more and more homes, shops, and other buildings whose purpose he couldn’t deduce. The smell of the city grew as they approached; it was a constantly changing combination of smoke, animals, waste, and food which assaulted him in varying degrees.
An unfamiliar tang of salt, from the docks and sea on the far side of the city, joined with the other smells as a constant undercurrent. He had no idea what sort of reception they would receive, or who would give it. Gavin glanced back at the chain of people walking behind him. “We’ll need a place to put everyone.” One of the cavalrymen who rode alongside gave a nod and galloped off. Gavin held up a hand as a futile gesture for the man to wait but gave up.
“I didn’t mean for him to ride off to make arrangements.”
Draken shook his head. “Cavalry are like that. If their commander says something that might be instructions or a request, or I guess even saying you need or want something, they’ll jump on it as an order. I’ve never heard of them doing that for a baron, though. Be careful what you say.”
The city ahead of them was so large the entire evacuation could get lost within its streets and markets. Gavin doubted anyone from Stoutheart Barony besides the old military men and a few of the merchants had ever been to the Riland capital to see such magnificent structures.
People entered and exited between the stone columns flanking the open gate. Some locals came out and passed them, but the majority hurried in through the gate while casting looks over their shoulder. It was ridiculous to think that his team might be some kind of threat, and the movement mystified him.
They hiked to within bowshot of the wall before the sound of hooves echoed through the open gate and the tunnel beyond. Cavalry riders came out in pairs which split to either side of the road. More and more of them came through until Gavin counted twenty lined up on either side. All but the two lead men were leaning forward in their special saddles, in a trance controlling their horses. They formed up to face each other to make walls on either side of the road where they waited.
Gavin whispered over to Draken as they approached, “What’s going on?”
Draken grinned. “It’s an honor guard. I’ve seen it before. Once, a long time ago.”
Gavin said, “It’s nice to know they’re not here to arrest the lot of us.”
A man walked out of the gate and came forward to meet them, timed so he would reach Gavin before they marched between the cavalry riders. Gavin recognized Rider Faven and let out a sigh of relief as the man turned to face the gate.
“Cavalry, attention!” Every horse came to attention and stomped their hooves in place in crisp unison. The show made the cavalry’s surrender ceremony salute seem like a sloppy accident.
Faven marched up to Gavin, stood at attention, and saluted. “Full order has been restored to the city over the past several days under the cavalry’s direction with the assistance of the palace guard and other local forces. While some damage remains, I hope the state of the city meets with your approval, sir.”
Draken’s jaw dropped for a few moments before he recovered. “Oh, cracks and splinters. Your crucible is a lot hotter now.” He turned to Rider Faven. “Did I hear you right? Did you declare martial law in Baron Stoutheart’s name?”
Faven gave Draken a level stare and a nod before he turned back to Gavin. “The cavalry chooses whom they serve. Baron Stoutheart has done more than any other baron during this crisis, so the choice to turn the city over to him was clear. We’ve prepared council chambers, and have representatives from twenty-four baronies present. Yours makes twenty-five. All barons are freshly appointed, while some areas have either no representative or a regent acting on behalf of a baron too young to attend. Three have sent a Baroness. Most representatives have at least an adviser or assistant with them. Unfortunately, several baronies have fallen into chaos, with nobody at the helm and are unrepresented.”
It was like the early days of the march all over again, hearing stories about himself as if he were a larger-than-life hero of children’s stories. They expected him to lead. There was no sense in stepping back now. Brother Cleo’s story echoed in his mind. If not him, then who? More people than ever needed him. Some might be disappointed, and some would die under his command, but he would do his best.
Faven swept an arm forward. “If you and Master Draken would follow me, please? He is your primary adviser, yes? Good. Your evacuees and the Graven Kingdom guests will be directed to appropriate temporary lodgings as they arrive. The king and his men will be housed in a wing of the palace with both sufficient security and a pleasant environment.”
Good. At least the king wouldn’t be held in the dungeon, wherever it was. He would still need to find out about the old king’s prisoners as a favor to Adrian’s men.
They walked to the gate where Faven gave a quick hand gesture to set the cavalry into motion, each to their assigned task with the rest of the caravan.
* * *
The inside of the city boggled Gavin’s mind. Stone buildings three
and four stories tall stood to either side with red tile or gray slate roofs, separated by cobblestone roads with gutters. Some buildings were whitewashed with dark wooden beams exposed, while others sported more interesting shades of red and brown.
Draken leaned toward Gavin. “Stop gawking. They’ll think you’re some country bumpkin, sir.”
Gavin smiled. Draken was still himself, using the proper forms of address, but still thinking of Gavin as his wayward student, always in need of instruction. So much had changed, yet the old reminders were a comfort. The group stopped at the bridge before the main castle gate, with an honor guard of six sword-bearing footmen, three to either side of the entry. They wore the dark blue uniforms of the royal guard.
Faven stepped forward and said, “I present Baron Stoutheart, the Capital Regent.”
Gavin cringed at the new title. He hadn’t asked for that and hadn’t been asked if he would accept it, yet he accepted it for the sake of the city and its people. He had disliked the regent title while at the barony. What new tasks lay ahead of him here as Capital Regent? And what would he do about all the people? How could he possibly get to know a city of several thousand people like he had come to know his people from the barony?
With luck, he could assign Faven to continue administering martial law and not have to interfere until after they settled this whole mess. He had no idea how to see to the safety and success of such a huge city until they had a king. Like his barony council, he would find qualified people and give them the authority they needed to make things work.
Two guards formed up as an escort and took them to a lavishly appointed oak-paneled chamber large enough to hold all the new barons and their advisers. They argued with one another and milled about in small knots of three or four among rows of desks. Large fireplaces at both ends were laid out but not lit, since the fall weather was still moderate.
Upon taking a closer look, Gavin noted that roughly half of the gathering wore a formal red baron’s sash and their ages ranged from at least forty to some who couldn’t be more than twelve years old. There were a handful of black regent sashes as well, some escorting the youngest barons. From the doorway, flanked by both Draken and Faven, he mumbled, “It’s going to take a huge common cause to pull this group together.”
A flick of Faven’s wrist brought one of the servants with a baron’s sash for Gavin to wear. Gavin still wore his dirty leather armor with the stab holes, making the sash appear out of place with its clean elegance. The other barons were dressed in their best finery. Gavin had none. It was a miracle they hadn’t all fled at his smell.
Faven gestured discretely at a clean-shaven young man, no more than twenty years old, and said under his breath, “That one, Baron Case Perandi, is the one to call on for procedures. He’s quite a scholar, despite his age, and he has a sharp memory. We’ve set the Baronesses to the side as observers. Please take a seat at the head table.” He pointed to an empty seat across the hall. “Do I have your leave to call this meeting to order?”
Gavin’s attention snapped back to Faven. “Yes, of course.” Faven’s comment about the Baronesses echoed hints of his second-class status growing up. This would not do. He asked Draken in a whisper, “Does a baroness or regent have the same authority as a baron to represent their people in a council?”
Draken nodded. “There are a few limits, but not many.”
The others noted Gavin’s arrival and took their assigned seats as Faven stood at attention in front of the head table and clicked his boots on the floor. He gave a formal salute to Gavin, then pulled out a whistle similar to a boson’s whistle and gave it a blast. “This council is now in session, with Baron Stoutheart presiding.”
Gavin picked up on some derision from the seated men, along with a few curious stares. He brushed some dirt off his sleeve, and then wiped it from the table onto the floor.
Faven said, “Baron Stoutheart, as regent, has allowed me to conduct the business of this gathering. We have several concerns which must be addressed, some of which are much more time-critical than others.”
Gavin interrupted. “There’s a matter of fairness to consider first if you would. If you are a regent or a baroness here to represent your barony, please stand.” Two young women and a girl of about thirteen stood to the side of the room, and some older men stood from their desks in the middle of the room next to their very young charges. Two regents stood along the wall near the baronesses, having no baron in attendance with them. Gavin stood with them.
“Are there any objections to making room for all representatives among the general body?”
One older baron raised his hand. “It’s a waste of time, and I don’t see what difference it would make. It’s not like they will have anything to contribute to our discussions.”
Gavin walked in measured steps to stand in front of the man’s desk. He was an older man with gray streaks showing in his beard. “Sir, how long have you been a baron?”
“I’ve served the people under my brother the baron for –”
“No. I asked how long you have been a baron.”
He looked down. “Almost a week.”
Gavin pressed forward. “And how did you become baron?”
“By right of blood, when we received news of my brother’s death.”
Gavin saw one of the young women suppress a satisfied grin. He continued, “With the ambush of the barons having taken place at the edge of my barony, I will go on record confirming the deaths of all barons. My father was the last baron to die.”
He laid out the steps within his mind, hoping against hope that he wasn’t overstepping an obscure law. He’d bypassed laws to save his people, but blatant disregard for the law wouldn’t work if it only suited his own needs.
He suspected at least the one young woman knew where he was headed, so he walked to her desk. “Baroness. How did you come to this position?”
“I am the oldest surviving child among three daughters of Baron Lightmore.”
Gavin walked back and stood beside his desk. “By right of blood, then. Given the situation, and that we have among us barons as young as, or younger than, any of these women, I propose we recognize all representatives and seat everyone on the main floor.”
The old baron spoke up. “You expect us to just welcome these girls and do whatever comes into their silly heads?”
Gavin slammed his open hand on the desk. “Whether Baron, Baroness, Regent, or indentured servant polishing your buttons, you will show respect in these chambers or you will be removed. I’ve had a lot of practice lately doing what had to be done to save lives despite rules and procedure. I’ve ignored policy, procedure, law, and the Accords to save all of our people from invaders. Don’t doubt my resolve. Men, women, and children died under my watch defending Riland and defending you. You will not mock those who are here to represent their people. Am I clear?”
The room was deadly silent for the space of several heartbeats before the man said, “My apologies. Please continue.” Despite the man’s polite reply, his glare bored holes through Gavin.
With no other objections, servants shuffled desks around, and everyone sat on the main floor away from the walls.
Gavin sat and took a deep breath to restore his calm. “Rider Faven, you were about to give us an agenda.”
With a wry grin, Faven said, “Thank you, Regent.”
Gavin heard the emphasis on the last word and hoped no one else noticed, as Gavin had just increased the authority of every other regent present.
Faven turned to address the body. “First, we made you aware this morning of the surrender of King Ithan Talandor of the Graven Kingdom to Baron Stoutheart on the field of battle. We have no formal terms or written treaty yet. Who has expertise in this area?”
Baron Perandi raised his hand, and a few others made a tentative movement. Baron Perandi said, “It appears we have a committee.” He took out a paper, dipped a pen and made note of those who knew something useful.
Faven continued,
“When we break, Master Draken and Baron Stoutheart will tell your committee everything we know so far. Please add them to your list, Baron Perandi.”
Gavin nodded, figuring that was fair. They would need to know everything about the battle and the surrender.
Baron Perandi raised his hand again. “Begging your pardon, but we have another issue. We have nobody to sign such a treaty since it must be done by a representative of the whole kingdom. By law, barons and Capital Regents are not qualified to represent Riland.”
Gavin nodded, having come to the same conclusion at the surrender.
A stout, gray-haired baron let out a cynical laugh and raised a hand. Faven said, “The council recognizes Baron Pader Woed.”
“We have a majority of baronies represented here. All we need to do is pick a new king and we’ll be on our way. The king left no direct descendant, and the law gives a majority of barons the authority to choose. All that’s left is to agree and swear fealty.” It was clear the man saw the task as anything but simple.
Faven raised a finger to speak but was interrupted as a messenger skidded into the room, then slowed to a brisk walk and approached Gavin’s table. Faven waited.
The messenger was, of all people, Mick, who had first discovered the attack on the king and his barons. He smelled of sweaty horse and breathed hard. He removed his fox fur cap and whispered to Gavin, “Sir, the prisoners due to arrive tomorrow rebelled and attacked the guards and the remainder of your caravan.”
Gavin ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “Do we need to act on this, or is it too late?”
“The fighting is over.”
“Then please give your full report to the assembled barons, Mick. This concerns us all, and this is as close as we have to a ruling body.” Good news or bad, everyone needed to know where things stood with the army he had supposedly defeated. His failure to keep order among his prisoners endangered his people. He dreaded learning of the newly dead under his command.