by Tim Stead
It was all true.
“So you support the king?”
“I do, though I wish this business was quickly done one way or the other. Avilian can ill afford a civil war.”
Narak nodded. He agreed, and it seemed that Unsella was honest. “Call the others in,” he said.
Unsella went to the door and spoke to a man waiting there.
“They will be here shortly,” he said.
Narak sipped his wine.
“If you will permit me, Deus, I have a question.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“This war would be over in a week if you challenged Alwain directly. Why do you not?”
Narak had thought the same thing himself many times, but he did not want to go into the details of Col Boran’s politics, Pascha’s philosophy and the nature of their relationship with this man he hardly knew. He opted for a simple answer.
“Neither the god-mage nor I wish to rule Avilian, or any other kingdom. If we were to strike down any that we disliked it would be so.”
“It is a fine line you draw, Deus,” Unsella said. “You may kill assassins to protect a king, but may not kill a fool to protect a kingdom.”
“One is a crime, the other is merely unfortunate,” Narak said.
“Rebellion is a crime, I think.”
Narak sighed. The man was right. It hardly seemed worth splitting the hairs, but he tried again.
“It is the scale of the thing,” he said. “If I have to butcher Avilian’s army to get to Alwain, what then? It would change the balance of power in the kingdoms.”
“The civil war will do that anyway.”
“But the civil war is not my doing. It has nothing to do with Col Boran.”
“And yet Cain Arbak is the new Duke of Bas Erinor and Caster stands beside him. It seems that Col Boran has clearly made its feelings known on the matter.”
“Cain and Caster made their own choices, as have I.”
Their awkward discussion was ended by the arrival of the rest of Unsella’s household. This consisted of a wife, two sons, a daughter and seven servants. They entered the room but at the same time stayed as far away from their lord and Narak as possible, clustering around the doorway.
“One by one,” Narak said. He pointed to the wife. “Lady Unsella, we’ll start with you.”
She came forwards, bravely, Narak thought. She was clearly afraid of him and yet she stepped forwards with chin up and met his gaze. Her step did not falter.
“Do you support the King?” Narak asked.
“Yes.” Is was barely more than a whisper. “Yes.” Louder, and true.
“Are you aware of any plot against the King?”
“No, and if I was, I would have spoken of it before now.” Narak detected a trace of the north in her accent, so he guessed she was tied by blood to the northern lords. Anyway, she spoke the truth.
“Thank you, Lady Unsella.”
She nodded a bow and retreated to join those by the door.
The two sons were equally blameless, but when the daughter’s turn came, she was shaking with fear. Narak was inclined to put it down to her youth. She was only fourteen, and just beginning to come into the beauty that she would possess as a woman.
“You are the lady Mariet?” he asked, thinking to put her at her ease. She nodded, but seemed even more terrified at the thought that he knew her name. “You have something to tell me, Mariet?” he asked.
“I am not a traitor,” she said. There was a desperation to the phrase, and Narak saw Lady Unsella cover her mouth with her hands. Lord Unsella frowned.
“Mariet, speak only the truth,” he said.
“I thought it was just a game,” the child said. “They said they knew a way to kill the king and that Alwain would make them great lords.” It was true. In Narak’s judgement the girl was innocent of any malice, but he needed names.
“Who said?” he asked.
“Bard Enric.”
Lord Enric and his son, Bard, had fled the city days ago. “There were others?”
“It was Bard’s idea, but Enali Canterissa was there too, and Ama Veranna. I don’t know if they really believed him, but Bard said he had someone in the castle who would do his bidding.”
Narak made a mental note of the names. Neither had left the city, but both were children like Mariet.
“Do you know what his plan was?”
“Something to do with arrows. That was all he’d say. I don’t think he meant to shoot at the king, though.”
“Nothing more?”
She shook her head. She was weeping now and her father was looking stern. He put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.
“You should have come to me with this,” he said. He turned to Narak. “Deus…”
“I judge your daughter to be both honest and free of malice towards King Degoran, Lord Unsella. There will be neither censure nor punishment.” He smiled at the girl. “Thank you, Mariet. You may go back to your mother now.”
The child ran back across the room.
“Deus, you are most kind to overlook this childish indiscretion. I am sure…”
“It is not kindness, Lord Unsella. Mariet was honest and she meant no harm. But I ask you to ensure that nobody from this house speaks a word of what had happened here. Do you understand?”
“Of course. I will see to it.”
Narak left them to their recovery. Now he had another target. This was no longer a random search through the great houses, but a hunt for a plot that might still exist. Even though these were children Narak did not discount their ambition or their flexible loyalties.
On his way back to the castle he stopped at a tavern, bought a glass of wine and sat on a bench outside to watch the world go by. Would it really be so wicked, he wondered, if he just rode to meet Alwain and persuaded him, by word or blade, to abandon his rebellion? Then Cain could step down as duke and they could all go back to Col Boran.
But even that didn’t seem enough. He found himself yearning for his simple life when he had lived at Wolfguard with Caster, Perlaine, Narala and the others. So many were dead now, and after this little fracas there would be more, perhaps. And that was another point. Did he really want to spend the lives of his friends on a kingdom’s petty squabbles? He could save so many just by killing Alwain.
But could he? This wasn’t really a squabble between Alwain and the king. It went deeper than that. He could end up fighting a war against the southern lords.
He drained his glass. Politics wasn’t his strong suit. Narak needed an enemy and in Alwain he had a symbol, no more. For now, he would defend King Degoran, he would uncover this new plot, if it even existed, and that would be enough.
He stood and threw a few coins down by his glass. Somewhere down the street he heard the sound of running feet. A man was rushing towards him, and he recognised him as one of the king’s guards.
He stopped in front of Narak.
“Thank the gods I found you, Deus. The king is sick and has taken to his bed, but it seems unnatural. He is calling for you.”
Poison? Again? Narak ran.
16 Alwain
They filed into the great tent, all of Alwain’s senior officers and advisors, and none of them looked happy. Despite Major Antalis’s reservations Alwain had swallowed the deserter story whole. He had tightened up the line of march, split his own regiment between the van and the rearguard and used them almost exclusively for foraging.
Antalis sat at the back. His lowly rank permitted him to avoid the limelight in such august company.
“There is bad news, My Lord,” one of the colonels began.
“More?” Alwain snapped. He was becoming increasingly angry as the small things seemed to turn against him one by one.
“I’m afraid so, My Lord. With our slower pace it now seems that Toranda’s regiment and perhaps Kinray’s will arrive at Bas Erinor before us.”
Alwain looked at his map. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We still outnumber them three to one. We can
starve them if we have to. We will be there in four days whatever transpires. At least they cannot prevent that.”
Colonel Haliman entered the tent. Alwain stared at him.
“I apologise for coming so late, My Lord, but a rider came to us when I was on my way. There is news from Golt.”
For a moment Alwain thought he meant that Degoran was dead, but the look on the colonel’s face said otherwise.
“What?” he demanded.
“Your cousin, My Lord, the Lady Whitedale. She is dead by her own husband’s hand, and Narak has been driving people from the city by the dozen. We have no friends left there.”
Alwain slammed his fist onto the table. It hurt, but he did it again, and again. He turned angrily to Pomeroy.
“You promised me once that you could rid me of this four-legged menace,” he said. “Do so. Take two thousand men to Golt and burn the place to the ground. Kill Degoran. Kill the fucking Wolf and I will make you Duke of the North.”
Pomeroy beamed. He snapped a parade ground salute.
“I will do it,” he said. “It will be both an honour and a pleasure, My Lord.”
“My Lord.” Haliman interrupted hesitantly. “You may be unwise to split your forces further. We have already sent three hundred to watch the north, and now we should bring them back. They cannot hold against one regiment without foot and archers, and…”
“Let Backling find his own salvation,” Alwain snapped. “He was a coward anyway. I expect he will run back home when he sees Toranda’s regiment on the road.”
There was a stirring on one side of the room and Alwain saw Major Hales, Backling’s second, step forward red faced and angry.
“You have something to add, Hales?” he asked.
He caught a gesture from Haliman, a shake of the head, a quieting hand. Hales glanced down at the floor.
“No, My Lord,” he said. “Only that I am certain that Colonel Backling will do his duty.”
“We shall see,” Alwain said. He looked around the gathering of officers. “Do we have any more news?”
Nobody spoke. Alwain glared at them all. Any challenge to his authority would have to be beaten down ruthlessly, and part of him wished that Hales had risen to the insult. He would have crushed the man, and he was angry with Haliman for preventing it. Even so, he knew that his colonel had acted in what he believed were the best interests of discipline. With Backling away and Hales gone he might face more desertions from their regiment.
“Dismissed,” he said, and turned to Haliman. “Make sure someone brings food and wine to my tent,” he said, half hoping that assigning a menial task might raise Haliman’s dander a little, but the colonel was too wise.
“At once, My Lord,” he said.
Alwain turned and stamped out.
*
In the darkness outside the tent Haliman found Major Hales and Major Antalis waiting for him. He knew that the two men were friends.
“Colonel, may we speak frankly?” Antalis asked.
“That depends on what you’re going to say,” Haliman replied.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hales said. “You know that we want to speak about Alwain. He’s leading us to disaster.”
“His style is autocratic,” Haliman admitted. “But the Duke is a competent commander. Things will change when we get to Bas Erinor. You will see.”
“You believe that?” Hales asked. “We are set against the greatest general in Avilian history, bar the Wolf himself, and Alwain keeps sending men away and insulting others. Even more to the point he is sending men against Wolf Narak. That is insane.”
“To defeat the King, he must kill him. To kill him he must get past Narak,” Haliman said. Privately he doubted it was a wise move, but he did not see why two thousand men could not kill one. Anything else defied reason. But there might well be heavy losses if the old Tales of Afael were true. Taking Bas Erinor would be the more attainable goal, though he knew better than to directly oppose his lord once Alwain had spoken.
“It’s almost as though he is trying to provoke desertion,” Antalis said. “And he will if he carries on like this. Many of our men are reluctant warriors. It is a civil war. Arbak is a hero of Avilian. Bas Erinor holds the families of many.”
It was true, and especially so for the Duke’s own regiment.
“Be assured that I will council a swift assault on the city. The people of the city must be spared. The war must end quickly. I will say all these things and the reasons for them. Alwain is no fool.”
“A point we may argue at another time,” Hales said. “But for now, I like your answers and will soothe my men to his path. Bear this unease in mind, Colonel. It will fade only with a swift victory.”
Haliman watched the two officers walk away. He could not tell Alwain what they had said. That would cause a civil war within the civil war. Even so, he would raise each point in its turn, using the most diplomatic language, and hope that each was taken aboard.
If he could only manage the peace until Bas Erinor and the obvious evidence of another enemy took over, all would be well. But now he had to manage food and wine for his Lord.
He hurried towards the mess tents.
17 Tricks
Francis Gayne slumped back into a comfortable chair in his small sitting room.
“That went well, I thought,” he said.
Keron poured three cups of cheap wine and gave one each to Gayne and Mordo Tregaris. The big man grunted his agreement and sat in the chair next to Gayne.
“I still don’t like that you used a dragon,” Mordo said. “That was dangerous.”
“It was sweet as honey,” Keron rumbled. “Apart from that bastard who shot at you. Can’t think how he missed from where he was sitting.”
“Someone shot at you?” Mordo was aghast. “You didn’t…?”
“No, I didn’t use any power. The dragon would have detected that, I know.” He glanced across at Keron. “Did you see that woman on the balcony – the well-dressed one?”
“The one you kept ogling?”
“Now’s not the time…” Mordo began, but Gayne waved him to silence.
“I saw her before,” he said. “She was talking to Torgaris when I spoke with him at the pavilion.”
“What?” Mordo leaned forwards. “With the dragon? And she was there in the hall today? Describe her.”
“Pretty,” Keron said.
“Average height, brown hair, brown eyes. Did I mention she was well dressed? And she spoke with a northern lilt to her tongue.” Gayne smiled. “And when that man shot at me, she turned the bolt aside with the merest glance.”
Mordo went white.
“And round her neck, did she wear an amulet?”
“A jewel of sorts, but then so many women wear them.”
Mordo shook his head and drained his cup. Keron filled it for him again. “Why would she be here?” he muttered.
“Who?” Gayne asked. “Who is she?”
“If I guess right it is Callista Dalini, the apprentice god-mage from Col Boran. She is Afaeli and so would pass unnoticed here.”
“Probably here to find out what we’re up to,” Keron said. “We’ve nothing to hide.”
“You think she’ll like your ‘people’s state’, Gayne?” Mordo asked. “Col Boran is tied to kings and dukes by a thousand strings. Even now the Wolf protects the king in Golt, Cain Arbak sits on the ducal throne at Bas Erinor and Skal Hebberd, king and father of kings, watches over Telas. Trust me, Gayne, these people are your worst nightmare.”
Gayne smiled. “You have not seen my nightmares, Mordo. I keep having this one about a pig…”
“Be serious!” Mordo shouted.
Gayne leaned forwards and poked him in the chest. “You forget who is master here, Mordo. Besides, the woman saved my life.”
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with. She is at least your equal in talent and she has been trained by the god-mage herself, for months. If she has come into her power, she could level Afael and
slaughter all of its people in less than a minute.”
“Why would she do that?” Keron asked.
Mordo looked at him as though he was an idiot. “She won’t,” he said. “It’s an illustration of how powerful she is. You must not play games, Gayne. She is too dangerous.”
“And yet she saved my life.”
“No more than a whim, I assure you, and if she sees me it will all be over.”
“Over for you,” Keron said. It was clear to Gayne that Keron didn’t like their new advisor, no matter how many secrets he brought with him.
“I have explained this to you a hundred times,” Mordo said. “If I am discovered you will lose my knowledge. Without my knowledge you will not grow into your full power. Without your full power you will be no match for them when you are discovered – and believe me, Gayne, you will be discovered if you continue to use power like you have been – and they will take you to Col Boran for their test, which you will fail. Then you will die.”
“I’d like to speak with her,” Gayne said.
“No!”
“Mordo, I’m no fool, but it will give us a chance to discover what Col Boran thinks, what they will do if we succeed. But you are right. She must not see you. You can stay here, avoid the streets during the day. We’ll postpone any practical training until she leaves.”
“It’s a bad idea. You shouldn’t have anything to do with her.”
“You’ve made your opinion clear enough,” Gayne said. He was getting tired of Mordo. The man had a store of knowledge that was invaluable, but he was a tiresome man, and terrified that he might be caught up again by Col Boran and punished for whatever misdeeds he had committed. Mordo had been coy about that. He’d hinted at theft, but it was obvious the man feared for his life, and perhaps there was something more.
“What next?” Keron asked.
Gayne sipped his wine again. He should really make the effort to get something more palatable. His visits to General Delarsi and what he’d lifted from the Falini house had given him a taste of better things. After all, he was a member of the ruling council of Afael.
“I have a meeting with men from Bridge Ward. I think they want to claim ownership of the Falini properties and charge the council rent.”