by Greg Curtis
The Golden Citadel was said to be almost overrun with refugees and the other two cities were in not much better shape. Further afield the free cities of Bridgeton and Cloverfields were also groaning as their numbers swelled.
And it was all, or at least in part, Simon's fault. Edouard was unbelievably glad as he pushed his way through the crowded streets, that no one knew who he was. The House of Barris was not well liked these days. Even if they won the war there would be consequences for that dislike that would be borne by them all for years to come. The house would survive but the chances were that there would be reparations demanded from the kingdom and trade would be poor for a long time to come. His father would have a lot of work to do, and Marcus too in time when he took over as the next Count.
As he walked through the city Edouard kept an eye out for cut purses. His family had told him that the streets were filled with them. Edouard did spot a few young boys in the streets eyeing everyone up and looking to be up to no good. But they stayed well clear of him. The pistols on his belt probably saw to that. There were easier purses to pinch.
At least as he made his way from the warehouse to the inn no one seemed to pay him any mind. He was glad of that. Carrying two of his oversized muskets slung over his shoulders and a pack on his back, not to mention the pistols on his belt and a sword, he was far less adroit at getting out of people's way than normal. And the armour didn't help. Perhaps they were just too busy trying to stay out of everyone's way to notice a man carrying heavy weapons. Then again maybe they thought he was a soldier. Overdressed perhaps, but still a soldier. Or maybe they simply didn't care. He suspected it was the latter for the most part. People were busy. They had things to do, and worrying about the other people in the streets wasn't one of those things.
Edouard made his way through the crowded streets rather more quickly than he would have expected, though not as quickly as he normally did. But then normally when he came to Bitter Crest he drove his horseless carriage there and then through the streets. If he'd tried that now the carriage would have never made it through. There were simply too many people to let a carriage pass. Even riders on horseback were few and far between and they were forced to a crawl. Most were leading their animals.
Ten minutes or so after he'd left the warehouse Edouard reached the Basilisk's Stool and was grateful for the sight of the ramshackle old inn if not for the smell. Unexpectedly the already bad smell became worse just outside the alehouse. With the added odours of vomit in the street and the hops from the ale the smell seemed to congeal into something that attacked the nose like a wild animal. It was actually worse than the smell in the sewers he'd had to wade through a few months before.
He was glad to make it inside where at least the vomit had been cleaned up and proper soap had been used. But inside the problems with the smell gave way to the new problems of overcrowding. It turned out that the masses in the streets were quite spread out compared to the press of people inside the alehouse, all desperately trying to drown their troubles in ale and cider.
Edouard had to force his way between the patrons to reach the stairs at the far end of the main room, and received a few angry stares for his trouble. But none of the patrons said anything. They were all too busy trying to reach the bar where the ale was being served by a single overwrought looking serving wench, and so he made the stairs without incident.
Half a dozen flights later he reached the landing to the attic room and banged on the door.
“Edouard!”
His mother opened the door and instantly started crying as she grabbed him and held him close. And she wouldn't let him go for the longest time as he stood there on the landing, half in and half out of the room. But he didn't mind and no one else seemed to be complaining. So he let her carry on as he gazed at the others all lined up in the little room waiting to greet him.
By the gods it was good to see them again! All of them, even squeezed into this tiny little room in a stinking city overcrowded with refugees. It had been far too long. It was a blessing to see with his own eyes that they all lived. And once his mother had let him go he went to them, all of them, and greeted them as he had been dreaming of for months. Hugging them all in turn, and kissing the women as well.
He felt guilty for having been away for so long, and more so because he knew he was bringing more worry into their lives. Especially his mother who had already been through so much. First she had lost him to the dungeons and for the longest time had not known if he was alive or dead. That must have been the darkest of the seven hells for her. Then she'd had to learn that he was alive but injured, and had not been able to see him because the fort was surrounded. And then when she'd finally had the chance to see him it was only after he'd hurt his brother.
She'd been so sad when she'd come through the portal to see him. Saddened by what she'd found, even though she'd done her best to hide it. He had not asked, he had not wanted to, but he knew that she had cried for him after she'd left. That she had seen the chill in his heart, the anger in his soul. His mother could not stand that. She had always been proud of him and he had failed her.
He hugged Th'yssen too, and apologised to her as well for hurting her son. Though she was not his mother she was family and he had known her all his life. He liked her. She was a good woman. And it was never her fault that Simon had grown up as badly as he had. He knew that. And when he saw her, the wrinkles lining her face as they never had before and the pain in her eyes, he knew it had been wrong of him to hurt Simon as he had. Not because Simon had been worthy of anything better, but because in harming Simon he had harmed her. And that was wrong. Another reason to know shame.
But now Simon was in his crib in the corner of the room, a makeshift device that someone had probably put together in a hurry and sold to them for a ludicrous amount of coin, and he didn't know what to make of that. On the one hand if that baby was truly Simon, then he knew he should still hate him. And that he should still face justice at the end of a noose. But on the other hand how could you hate a baby? And who could ever hang one?
Then there was the other question. The one that surely terrified Th'yssen to her soul. If he truly was Simon, would he grow up once more to be the same terrible man he had been before? Edouard didn't know, and as Cassandra sat there rocking the cradle he tried not to think about it. He just smiled at his newest and now obviously pregnant stepmother and moved on.
His father looked much older than he remembered. Smaller and whiter than ever, the lines in his face were deeper than they should be. But then he was the head of the family and he bore the responsibility of keeping them safe and the house solvent. He also carried the ultimate burden for all of Simon's crimes. It could not be an easy load to bear. And now he had to risk losing two more children in a war. Still, he clasped his hand firmly and told him he was proud of him. That was something unusual. His father was never one to give out praise easily.
Next Edouard hugged Marcus' mother Valeria tightly and promised her that he would do everything he could to see that Marcus made it home safe. It seemed a strange thing to say. Her son after all was the bull, the mighty warrior while he was the dilettante tinker. But it still had to be said.
He continued down the line, hugging Eselle, Sousie and Derys each in turn but saying nothing to them. There wasn't really much to say. And at least their children were not in any immediate danger. If things went wrong and the rock gnomes overwhelmed them, they would hopefully have the chance to flee before the city was invaded. Of course Sousie probably wouldn't go with the others. With April now part of the temple the chances were that she would join her daughter there. Marcus had told him that there was an entire village next to the temple, and since they had an alliance it would be a safe place to stay. No one was going to threaten the hamadryad.
Perhaps it was a place where they could all retreat to if things turned ugly. Not that many would find it easy to live in such a place. Not the men anyway. Though it was becoming clear to him that a lot of what he'd
heard about Tyrel and her temple was either exaggerated or wrong she was still no friend of the male of the species.
After that it was the turn of his brothers and sisters, and all of them save Marcus were there, waiting for him. All of them were clearly worried by what was coming. And they had reason to be. If the rock gnomes completed their temple then they would lose everything. In time Bitter Crest would be overrun and many other cities as well. Houses including their own would fall. To attack them before that happened was the only thing they could do. But to do that was to take a risk. And as everyone there knew, in war there were never any guarantees. Neither of victory nor survival.
Leona felt that risk keenly, and she was trying to hold back tears as she squeezed him as tightly as she could. He would in the end always be her little brother. The one she had always felt the need to protect. But she held her fear in and simply told him to be careful. He in turn told her to take good care of his home while he was gone. Edouard couldn't leave the house vacant in his absence when he had guests staying, and so Leona and her family would be in charge of it while he was away. Between Kyriel's ward and the portal he thought they should be safe there, and it was far more comfortable than this overcrowded and dingy little room above the alehouse.
Everything seemed normal until he reached April, at which point he suddenly got slapped. Then hugged. And then slapped again as if he wasn't already confused enough.
“April?” His cheek hurt, even through the bandage, and he had a horrible feeling that she might have torn his stitches again. They'd only just started to settle. But he didn't understand why she was so upset with him, and that was what really hurt.
“You heartless, brainless fool! How could you?!” There were tears in her eyes and he didn't know why. She had always known this was coming. That he would stand beside his brother. And he had no plans of dying. Which was why he was wearing his armour.
“April I'll be all right. I promise you. I'm not stupid and Marcus is a savant when it comes to battle.” Of course he was probably only saying the same things that every man setting off to war said to his family. And many of them weren't all right. But it was what had to be said.
“But how could you leave without saying good bye?”
For a moment he was caught almost speechless as he tried to make sense of the crazed. And then he gave up trying. There was no point. Some days Edouard didn't understand his sister, and this seemed to be one of those days.
“I am saying good bye.”
“Not me you dolt!” She slapped him again and Edouard flinched a little under the continuing assault. His cheek was really beginning to hurt. He wondered if he could persuade her to try slapping his other cheek instead.
“Kyriel! Why didn't you say farewell to Kyriel?”
“But – … I – … why?”
“Because it's what you're supposed to do. But no you just run off and leave her without a single word. You cad!”
Cad? Why was he a cad all of a sudden? And how did she even know that he hadn't said farewell? Not that he had but she surely couldn't know what he'd done and not done an hour or so before. Unless that was more of the hamadryad's magic at work.
“April.” He tried placating her, but by the look in her eyes didn't succeed. At least though she didn't slap him again.
“You left her in tears!”
“Tears?”
Edouard was sure his little sister was going crazy. Had she not met the woman? If there was one thing he knew about Kyriel it was that she would never be caught crying. He doubted she even had the necessary mechanisms to cry. Though she had confused him the last time they'd spoken. More than confused him.
Could she be right? Could Kyriel really have feelings for him? Edouard wondered about that. And in truth it wasn't the first time he'd wondered. Not since she'd treated his wound.
Strangely he suddenly realised he hadn't seen her since then. She'd made herself scarce around the fort and mostly stayed in the shrine or back in the temple for the past few days, while he'd been busy in his workshop. Maybe she'd been hiding from him. Maybe she'd been embarrassed by their conversation. And upset by the fact that he was marching off to war.
Edouard didn't know what to think of that. Whether it was a good thing or bad. But the thought that she might have feelings for him pleased him – even if he knew that nothing could ever come of it.
He was saved from having to say anything more by Thomas who grabbed his hand and started pumping it furiously and telling him how lucky he was to be going to war. As usual he was filled with excitement and far too much vitality as he told him to kill all the rock gnomes he could. He alone thought this was a grand adventure, and if his parents had let him he would have come with them. But then he was only fifteen and had led a sheltered life in the family estate. Until the fall of Theria he had never even seen death.
Next it was Innosen’s turn who it seemed was annoyed at having to sit the fight out. But father had been clear. Someone had to remain behind, and if Marcus was riding into battle, Leona's husband had to stand back. If he hadn't had the spark of fire and thus been valuable to the war, his father would have made him remain behind as well. Meanwhile Edouard's niece and nephew who at ten and twelve didn't really understand the seriousness of what was happening stood shyly beside their father, looking a little confused. But Britta and Henk were good children, well-mannered as their mother demanded that they be, and they politely wished him well and he equally politely thanked them. He even shook their hands. They were too serious he thought, but they smiled when he told them that while the war was being fought they could come and stay in a real fortress. They liked that. Something about princesses and castles he guessed. Leona was always reading them bedtime stories about such things.
In the end it was a short visit. It had to be. Marcus was expecting him at the camp within the hour and much of that time had already been used up. But by the time he left Edouard was feeling much the better for having made it. In the end though he might be the third son and fourth child who could never inherit, nor hold any position in the world, he was still a part of the family. That was what mattered.
He only hoped that he would be able to make this visit again when the war was over.
Chapter Forty Seven
It was Abbotsford where they first met the enemy in battle, and it was sooner than they had expected. Much sooner.
They were barely a day's march into Therion, camped outside of the little, now deserted village, and settling in for the night. The army was in good spirits, many chatting happily with their comrades around the fires, a few singing, and a few despite Marcus' orders, drinking. Edouard suspected he wouldn't be too upset about it, provided they didn't go too far. Ale and soldiers were a natural combination. Stopping them would have been unpopular. His goal wasn't to stop them. Just to make certain that they didn't drink so much that they weren't able to march the next day – or fight.
For his own part Edouard was restless. This was his first campaign, and he hoped the last. He was both excited and nervous and constantly wavering between the two. He was sore as well. He was no horseman, and a full two days in the saddle had left him aching and chaffed in places he didn't like to be chaffed. The only good thing about it was that he had plenty of salve for what hurt.
Marcus had placed him with the other sparks, right in the middle of the army. It was the best place for them he guessed. They were not trained soldiers, and if the enemy attacked or when battle came they would not be in the front lines. They would be standing back a way, lending their aid to the others, and hopefully not getting killed. Part of him liked the idea that they would be protected. But he also felt a little humiliated by it. By the thought that they needed to be looked after, like children. He did have some of the most powerful muskets they had after all, together with a good aim and a now well practised fireball.
Still, Edouard hadn't objected. Marcus was the soldier, not him. And for the moment he was really just looking forward to a good night's sl
eep. Or at least the best night's sleep he could get on a bedroll. Already he missed his bed, and he hadn't even settled down. Sleep though was soon the last thing on his mind.
An owl hooted, and for a moment Edouard thought nothing of it. Nothing until he heard the sudden silence all around and remembered that there were no owls nearby. It was the sentries, calling out that they'd seen something. Edouard stood with the others around the camp fire and clutched his musket tightly. It might be nothing. It might even be an actual owl. Perhaps there was one in the village. But they all knew it could be the start of something.
“Wolves!”
The cry came from the front, and for a moment Edouard didn't understand. Why would there be wolves anywhere near them? And then his mind clicked into gear. They weren't wolves. The ancient writings had spoken of them. They were fire demon dogs. Fire elementals encased in steel armour that were shaped like wolves. The Cabal had used them as their shock troops in every battle they'd ever faced. That was one of the reasons that he hadn't guessed sooner what the wind demons were. They were a far more advanced soldier and had been used in far less battles. Or at least mentioned less often in the histories.