The Warriors of Valishna (Cartharia Book 1)

by Spencer Reaves McCoy

  "I'm not a child!" Rory said.

  "But you're here already," Matilyn said, ignoring his interruption, "and it'd be criminal for you to return home. So I suppose it'd be for the best if you served as an officers' boy instead of a soldier. You'd be in less danger. Are you frightened of battles, Rory?"

  Rory shook his head.

  "That's the first thing then," Matilyn said, "You have to learn when it's alright to be scared. If you don't go in terrified for your life, you might fight your hardest. You can serve with me, Rory, but it's going to be a frightening experience. You need to be ready for that. Are you?"

  "Yes ma'am," Rory said, but he didn't look scared. In fact, he looked overjoyed. Matilyn held back a smile. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll do my best."

  "Good," Matilyn said.

  "Is there anything I can do for you now?" Rory asked.

  Matilyn considered, "You've already brought me my mail," she said. When she saw Rory's crestfallen expression, she nearly laughed. "I'll tell you what," she said, "My sword needs sharpened and my armor needs buffed out. Will you work on that for me? It's back in my tent."

  "Yes ma'am," Rory said quickly. He saluted, then paused, "Right now?"

  Matilyn nodded, "Right now."

  Rory saluted once more, and then took off in a quick jog.

  Matilyn stared after him for a moment before looking down at the letters in her lap. One was from Penny. The other, she didn't recognize. She took the one from Penny first, staring at the handwriting. She felt a lump rise up in her throat. She missed the other woman fiercely.

  She was also angry at her. She tried not to dwell on it too much, but the resentment grew in the late hours of the night when she was cold and lonely. She thought of Penny in a white dress, married to a faceless stranger, and the anger festered just a little bit more. Matilyn folded up the letter without reading it.

  The second letter was from a woman in Westwood. She frowned at the unfamiliar name but continued reading anyway. As she did, a sinking sensation filled her stomach. The letter was to inform her of the death of her father.

  Matilyn's hands trembled as she considered the words. He'd died of a heart attack. It had been quick and painless, the letter said. There was nothing that could be done for him.

  "No," she whispered. "No. No, no."

  The words did little good though. Matilyn blinked back the tears filling her eyes and came to her feet. She glanced around the camp. She didn't want any of her men to see her cry. Rory was at her tent though.

  She went to Janice's instead. But Janice wasn't in her tent. Matilyn stood at it for a moment, lost in thought.

  "Commander Malevus?"

  Matilyn closed her eyes briefly and then turned to see who was speaking to her.

  Cori offered a smile.

  "Lieutenant," Matilyn said.

  "Are you alright?" Cori asked.

  "I'm fine," Matilyn said.

  "You look a little--"

  "My father died," Matilyn said. The words tumbled out before she could stop them, "He had a heart attack and now he's gone. Just like that."

  "I am so sorry," Cori said.

  Matilyn wiped at her face, "I don't want the men to see me--I don't want any of them to see me like this."

  "Come with me," Cori said. She reached out and took Matilyn's hand, pulling her along. Matilyn followed without argument. In a few minutes, they'd reached Cori's tent.

  It was the first time that Matilyn had been inside. It was orderly--more orderly than her own--and surprisingly spacious. Matilyn paused for a moment, her eyes lingering on a stack of envelopes beside Cori's sleeping bag.

  Cori took a seat and then patted the flooring beside her.

  Matilyn sat. She thought of the letter in her vest, and then she thought of the one from Penny. "My fiancé," she said, "No, my wife, she married someone else."

  Cori frowned, "Why?"

  "Because she had to," Matilyn said, "It was a business decision. That's what her letter said. But I can't help but imagine it. The way his arms fit around her, the way her hand must look in his. It's all I can think of, sometimes."

  "Well," Cori said, "I can help you forget. At least for a while."

  Matilyn glanced at her, "How?"

  Cori moved suddenly, pressing her lips against Matilyn's. Matilyn reacted instinctively, returning the kiss with a fiery sort of abandon. When they broke apart, she was breaving heavily.

  Matilyn moved to close the door to the tent. When they kissed for the second time, she thought briefly of Penny. But Penny was married, and Cori tasted so sweet.

  Matilyn walked alongside a tall stranger, handing out coins to the poor. Several of them whispered blessings to her, or overwhelmed her with their thankfulness.

  Charity wasn't new to her. As a Priest in Valishna, she went out every seven days with the other Priests to hand out baskets of food to the hungry or medicine to the sick. Priests had a responsibility to the public, that's what the Chapel taught. They had a responsibility to take care of everyone, no matter how much gold they had.

  She thought of the first time she'd gone to hand out coins. She'd been with Eldrin, and they'd been barely older than children. They'd just signed up to train as Priests, and it was still their introductory period. Eldrin had cracked jokes the entire time, but Matilyn had taken it seriously.

  It had been the first time in her life that she'd felt as though she were truly making a difference. It was the first time she'd felt whole. She felt that way now, as coins passed from her hands to those of the less fortunate. Every time someone smiled, it made a difference.

  She didn't know the man she was walking beside, but she knew she cared about him. She knew he was important. She knew she loved him.

  They walked together for a while longer, until their baskets of coins were empty and they had nothing left to give. Then they turned and started back. Matilyn felt better than she had in a long time. For a brief time, she wasn't dwelling on Penny's marriage or Eldrin's death. She was only thinking about the good she'd done, and the good she'd do.

  "Commander Malevus," the man said, "Thank you for coming with me today."

  "Of course," Matilyn said, "I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing."

  It was true, too. Battles and fighting seemed a long distant past at the moment. It seemed like another life.

  "We're going to do wonderful things together," the man said.

  Matilyn smiled, "Yes," she agreed, "We are."

  Then they turned a corner and saw the large castle looming in the distance. All of a sudden, Matilyn realized who she was talking to. Her eyes widened in horror as she stared at Richard Sullivan. Then she opened up her mouth to scream.

  "Matilyn! Commander!"

  Matilyn woke to someone shaking her by the shoulders. For a moment, she was disoriented, unsure where she was. Then she saw Cori's worried face and the everything that had happened rushed back in till it seemed that it was going to overwhelm her.

  "Matilyn, what happened?"

  Matilyn pushed Cori's hands aside, and scrambled to unzip the tent. She felt sick to her stomach. The other woman protested but Matilyn ignored her, ducking out into the cool evening air. She stumbled for a moment and then caught her balance. Still ignoring Cori, she made her way back towards her own tent.

  Janice stopped her. "Matilyn? Are you alright? You look ill."

  "I..." For a moment, Matilyn teetered on the edge of telling Janice everything. She swallowed a few times, imagining Richard Sullivan's face. She didn't know what it meant, but she knew that she'd loved him. She knew that much.

  "My father died," she finally said instead. It seemed the easier of the two subjects.

  Janice frowned, "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, "Are you okay?"

  Matilyn nodded, "I'll be fine."

  Janice didn't seem convinced, "Do you need to talk about it?"

  "No," Matilyn said. She thought again of Richard Sullivan, "No. I'm fine. Thanks, though."

  "I'm here for you if y
ou need it," Janice said, putting a hand on Matilyn's arm.

  "Thank you," Matilyn said, "I think I just need some more sleep though."

  Janice nodded, and didn't try to stop Matilyn when she walked past the other woman to go to her tent. Her sword and armor sat just inside. She stared at it for a moment, trying to wrap her hand around the sharp edge and the gleaming plate mail. Then she remembered Rory.

  She sunk down into her sleeping bag, wondering what Rory would think if he knew what she'd been dreaming. She wondered what any of them would think. Thousands of men followed her orders, and she was dreaming of walking with the enemy. Sleep didn't come again that night.

  The next morning, Sean waited for Matilyn outside her tent. Janice had told him about her father, but Sean had already known. He also knew about her dream.

  He had to talk to her. She might not like it, but he had to do it. He couldn't feel right with himself if he didn't.

  Sean lifted a hand to stroke the amulet hanging around his neck. He thought--no, he knew--that his tolerance was going up for the amount of energy he consumed. The more he took, the more he needed. Part of him realized how badly he needed to stop but he couldn't.

  He wouldn't.

  He tried to talk himself into it sometimes. He'd think about Janice and how much he'd be hurting her if she found out the truth. How angry she'd be that he'd been eavesdropping on her private thoughts without her permission. It was wrong, and he knew it. She loved him.

  Sean loved her too, but it wasn't enough. The feelings that came from caring for Janice were nothing compared to the amount of feelings that he drank in on a daily basis. There was so much anger, joy, sorrow, and longing in the camp that sometimes he thought he might explode from the sheer size of it.

  Matilyn came out of her tent and Sean dropped the amulet back around his neck.

  "Commander," he greeted.

  Matilyn nodded a greeting, "Good morning, Sean."

  "You don't look like you've slept much," Sean said.

  "I didn't," Matilyn admitted, "Did Janice tell you...?"

  "About your father," Sean said, "Yes. She did. I'm sorry to hear it, Matilyn. I'm sure he was a good man."

  "Thank you," Matilyn said.

  Sean hesitated and then forced himself to say, "I know about the dream too."

  Matilyn's face drained of color. "What? Did Cori say something?"

  "Cori?" Sean asked. He reached for his amulet, but stopped himself before grabbing it. His hand dropped to his side as he considered. He hadn't been expecting that. Somehow he'd missed it. The thought worried him.

  Matilyn's face turned a bright red now. "Never mind that," she said, "What do you mean, you know about the dream? What dream?"

  Sean shook his head, "Don't pretend," he said, "I'm not blaming you. I'm just concerned. Matilyn, you have to trust yourself. You're a good person. You're doing good things."

  "I know that," Matilyn said.

  "Do you?" Sean asked.

  Matilyn glared at him, "Yes," she said forcibly, "And I don't want to talk about this anymore."

  "We need to talk about it," Sean said, "Before you do something you'll regret."

  "Have a little faith," Matilyn said dryly.

  "I'll try," Sean said, "But please, Matilyn, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

  Matilyn sighed, "So I've heard. Janice too, apparently. And the rest of the damned camp. I don't need to talk, Sean. I need action. Let's go get the morning reports."

  "Alright," Sean said. He forced himself to let it go for now, "If you insist."

  As they walked, his hand moved back to his amulet and he let out a sigh as unwarranted emotions once again swarmed over him, blotting out his worry and everything else.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Set in the Stocks

  SULLIVAN BIT BACK A SIGH AS HE stared at the map, "We should crush Terifille," he said, "We can send our men from Serjya there."

  Eric glanced at the map but it was only a perfunctory look. He had most of it memorized by now. He and Sullivan had been staring at it for hours already, "We don't have the resources," he said for what felt like the dozenth time.

  "We're going to have to go after them at some point in the near future anyway,' Sullivan said. "If they can't stand with us, they're against us."

  "We should wait till we have a firm grip on Arinford," Eric said.

  "And when will that be?" Sullivan asked. "We've already lost one of our major fortresses."

  "We couldn't have predicted that," Eric said. "Nobody would have guessed that the Commander in the southern division would attack there."

  Sullivan shook his head, "You could have," he countered. "But you didn't. It's too late to dwell on that. What I want to know is how you're going to get it back."

  Eric said nothing. They'd been over the battle problems at least half a dozen times that day already, and neither of them had come up with a solution.

  "We need the longships from Terifille," Sullivan said, "We need to prioritize getting them. With the extra man power, taking the shore will be no problem. We might even have enough for a naval force. We can hold the shore from the sea itself."

  "We can't partake in another war," Eric said. "We can't. We'll be crushed from both sides. We're barely holding our own against Arinford as is."

  Sullivan scowled. He knew that Eric was right, but he didn't want to acknowledge it as truth. Instead, he said, "The Gods will help us. They favor us. We are the chosen ones."

  Eric sighed.

  Sullivan went silent for a moment, "We need them," he finally said, "If we can't fight them, we must convince them we're in the right. We must convince them somehow to join us."

  "How?" Eric asked. "You spoke to the King already. He's unwilling to put his people through another war."

  "Maybe if he knew we were going to attack," Sullivan mused, "Perhaps than he'd reconsider."

  "If we attack--" Eric started to say.

  "I know," Sullivan snapped, "I know we can't risk putting ourselves in the middle of two attacking kingdoms. We need the manpower though."

  "There was talk of betrothing Princess Catherine to the son of King Sanders, was there not?" Eric asked.

  "A little talk," Sullivan admitted, "But the engagement is off the table now. Not if they're unwilling to unite with us."

  "Perhaps," Eric suggested, "Perhaps you should put your anger aside for a moment, my liege. Consider this. With an engagement between Princess Catherine and King Sander's son, the two kingdoms will be united. I know they have no wish for war so make a proposal to keep them out of it. Simply unite the kingdoms. When things become bad enough, they will have no choice but to come to your aide."

  Sullivan shook his head, "I have considered this idea," he said, "But what reason would they have for the marriage between Catherine and the boy?"

  "A threat of war," Eric said, "You suggested it yourself. If they believed we were going to attack, it might be enough for them to form an alliance with us, especially if they believed they would be safe from the war between Lamonte and Arinford."

  "Betrothals cannot be broken," Sullivan said, "it is an agreement sanctioned by the gods themselves. What if they do not provide us aide, even when we so desperately need it?"

  Eric shook his head, "They will," he said, "The King is your friend, and with a marriage between his son and your daughter, he wouldn't dare refuse. They are both old enough to marry."

  "Catherine won't like it," Sullivan said.

  "It will be good for her," Eric countered. "She can go spend time in Terifille's royal court. It might do her good to spend some time outside of the castle. The reports about her are troubling, sir."

  "I know about the kennels already," Sullivan said, "It is a terrible thing to have done, but it's not the end of the world. Neither of them girls were hurt. It could have been worse."

  Eric nodded, "I suppose so, sir," he agreed, "But the whipping..."

  "What whipping?" Sullivan demanded.

  "You didn't hear?"
Eric asked.

  "Obviously not," Sullivan said.

  Eric looked frightened for a moment but then took a deep breath, "There was an incident in the kitchens. One of the cooks was planning to throw out some burnt bread. A boy stole it first. He couldn't have been older than eight years old."

  "Our people should not have to steal to ease the pains of hunger," Sullivan said, "Especially here in the castle. There is enough for all. The boy was overlooked somehow. It's a problem we must rectify."

  "Yes sir," Eric said, "I agree, sir. But it was Princess Catherine who took the news of the theft. She insisted the boy be whipped."

  "For taking bread that was meant to be thrown out? I would have favored the boy with a fresh meal," Sullivan said.

  "Yes sir," Eric said, "As would I. But Princess Catherine said that in the castle, we must set an example. She had the boy whipped thirty times."

  "Thirty times," Sullivan said, "That's enough to kill a man."

  Eric nodded, "The guard wanted to stop but Princess Catherine said she'd have his head if he didn't continue. The boy took all thirty lashes. He's in critical condition in the infirmary."

  "Why has nobody healed him?" Sullivan demanded.

  "Princess Catherine forbid the Priests from working on him," Eric explained, "She said he must suffer for his actions and that he wouldn't learn if his wounds were healed. She said he must recover naturally."

  "I will put a stop to that," Sullivan said, "Make sure the boy gets healed, and immediately."

  "Yes sir," Eric said.

  Sullivan sighed, "How is the work going with the orphanages?"

  "Slow," Eric admitted, "But we've had some success. Three have been built already and children from neighboring cities are being sent to them."

  "Three is hardly enough," Sullivan said.

  "I know," Eric said, "But I spread the word. Hopefully more towns will take my suggestions to heart. I have faith, sir, that they will see the wisdom to your words."

  Sullivan nodded.

  "We should consider the betrothal," Eric said, returning to the previous subject. "I think it would benefit everyone involved. Even if Terifille does not provide us aide in the war, we at least have one less kingdom to fight when we're finished with Arinford. And it would do Princess Catherine good."