by Greg Curtis
Someday the Ram surely hoped that at least Edouard might be a useful enticement to another house to ally with as part of a deal. So for most of his life Edouard had found himself in a no man’s land. Unwanted as a suitor by those their father would approve of since he was not of high enough station within the family, and not allowed to wed anyone else.
Now of course things had changed. Simon was gone and so Edouard had been elevated in the standings. But at the same time the good name of the House of Barris had been sullied. Their fortunes had waned with the loss of their home and business in Theria. And their positions had gone too with the death of the king. There were few who would want to ally themselves with the House of Barris any longer. In fact things were so bad that Father might well have married Edouard off to any house that would have him no matter how lowly, if the deal was right.
To add to his woes Edouard had no clue when it came to women. He was scared of Tyrel. More than scared, he was terrified. She didn't know why. The Honoured Mother was a wondrous woman, but all he seemed to see was her immense power. And he was paranoid. He obviously suspected the handmaidens of having some nefarious plan, whatever it might be. For him no doubt, heading off to war had seemed like a good thing. A chance to escape his troubles and maybe to reclaim a little honour.
For Kyriel of course it was madness. War was slaughter, and all for the purpose of making the house stronger. To gain a bit more land, a few more peasants. So how could Kyriel understand that this war was different? They weren't fighting for some petty little piece of land and to defeat a rival. They were fighting for their home.
It had taken April a while to understand the Tenarri herself. To believe that an entire realm could be ruled by rival clans. That there was no law. In Tenarri families held power by force of arms. Each house had its own army and ruled over hundreds and thousands of peasants. They were essentially rival nations living in each other's back yards and constantly fighting over resources and power. There was no such thing as an alliance; only temporary truces. And women were chattels. Sold into marriage not to cement deals but rather as hostages to maintain the peace between houses. If a war began they were immediately slaughtered. That was something Tyrel and her sisters found completely unconscionable.
So how could she possibly explain the convoluted inter-weavings of the nobility to Kyriel? Or that what Edouard was doing had nothing to do with the House of Barris defeating its rival houses and stealing their land. All she understood was war and the preparation for war. And of course that she hated it.
In the end April ended up telling her instructor much the same as she had told Denetta and left it at that.
Sometimes April thought, the lives of the nobility were simply too complex. The common people had it easier. They loved and wed who they wanted. Lived how they wanted. Did the work that they were suited for. It might not be an easy life, but at least they were free.
Chapter Forty Nine
Home again! Edouard celebrated as he saw the familiar hill with its little town nestled into it. His heart swelled a little and a smile found his face. It was good to see Breakwater once more, especially after two long weeks of marching and fighting. Better than good. There was something almost soothing about the sight of the peaceful farming town on the hill – even if it was now abandoned. He needed some peace. They all did.
It had been a hard march. Slow as with over three thousand men maintaining formation and all of them on the lookout for the enemy, the pace had reduced to a crawl. But of course they weren't taking the direct route. They were weaving to both sides as they travelled, making sure that every town and village was clear of the enemy. They couldn't leave the enemy safely entrenched. They couldn't afford to be attacked from behind. So every town and village they encountered had to be investigated carefully. Just in case the enemy were lurking inside it. And too often the scouts found the rock gnomes there, and battle ensued. Some days it seemed they were lucky to make a league or two. Normally he could have driven to Bitter Crest in under a day.
The battles had been numerous. Every day they marched and every night they fought. But at least they were winning.
None had been as tough as that first one. That evening they'd lost three hundred men and at least as many more had been injured. But Marcus estimated that at least fifteen hundred and maybe as many as two thousand rock gnomes had been killed. A six to one casualty rate was considered excellent in a war.
Since then the enemy had come at them in smaller numbers, harrying them. Always at night of course. Marcus said it was all about unsettling them rather than trying to defeat them. Ruining their sleep, making the men nervous as they never knew when another attack might come. It was also about slowing them down so that the rock gnomes could prepare their defences in Theria. The danger though was that it might also be part of a plan to divert them a little so that they could march them into a trap.
Marcus also claimed the tactic wasn't working and that the enemy was paying a heavy price for their harrying. A price of blood. Edouard knew he was right about that at least. When only a few hundred attacked an army of three thousand that was waiting for them, not many of them walked away. Each night they slaughtered the rock gnomes and their mechanical demons and few were hurt or killed doing it. As to the rest of Marcus' claim that they were winning through he wasn't so sure. He was tired for a start and he couldn't imagine that any of the men were less so.
Fortunately Breakwater was one town that they knew was free of the enemy and they were to camp here at the foot of the hill for the night as they waited for reinforcements.
Edouard was looking forward to a relaxed afternoon in the sun before then. And if he was lucky the reinforcements might be a day or two away and they could really relax. He might even get to visit his home and get a fresh change of clothes. It was only a league away and he could walk that easily enough. One thing he could say about his two weeks with the army; he was becoming fitter. Recovering some of the health he had lost in the dungeon.
His magic was becoming stronger too. Normally he’d never be able to cast as much as he had lately. He certainly had never tossed around as many fireballs as he had of late. And the practice was helping him. His magic came faster and more easily. His fire was hotter. Magic was like any muscle; it grew stronger with exercise.
He might be the only one, but the war was doing him some good.
“What's that noise?”
Hendon asked the question catching Edouard by surprise. But when he paid attention he realised that the man was right. He simply hadn't heard it because it was a sound he knew too well to pay it any mind.
“That's my carriage!”
Edouard knew the sound of his steam engine so well that it was almost like his own heartbeat. And sure enough when he turned to look up the hill at his fortress standing proudly in the distance it was to see the little carriage slowly making its way down the road. And it wasn't alone either. Behind it there was a procession of soldiers all making their way down the hill. They were all coming from his fort. The reinforcements it seemed were on their way.
“Your carriage?”
Hendon stared at him, confused perhaps by the sight of a horseless carriage. They weren't that common after all. Or perhaps just by the fact that he owned one. From what Edouard knew of the spark, he came from a village far to the south west and a long way from any of the major cities. Ashbury he called it. The only steam engine he would likely ever have seen would have been attached to a saw mill. He likely hadn't met a lot of lords either.
“I built it.” Edouard smiled proudly at him and with good reason he thought. Not many could say that they had built a horseless carriage.
They waited patiently for the carriage and the soldiers to reach them, and all the time Edouard was wondering who was driving it. There weren't many who knew how to and he hadn't shown anyone.
Of course when they finally made it through the village and down to the bottom of the hill and he saw Kyriel at the wheel, he wasn't that surpr
ised. She did come from a land where such things were more common and she had studied him like a hawk.
Seeing her for the first time in weeks brought a smile to his face, and maybe made his heart beat a little faster. He had to admit, the way the sunlight glinted off her white gold hair was very fetching. But he quickly turned his thoughts to more important matters. Military ones. He could not allow himself to be distracted by foolishness. Especially that sort of foolishness.
He was more surprised to see that the back seat was covered in muskets, big four barrelled ones like the ones he made, while there were barrels of gun powder in the little tray behind the boiler. Fergis he guessed had been busy in the two weeks since he'd been on the march. He only hoped that the diagrams and moulds he'd left behind in his workshop had been clear enough for him to work with. The last thing they needed was for a musket to explode in someone's hands.
However, the next surprise showed up just behind the soldiers before he could even begin to worry about the quality of Fergis' weapons. Someone had brought cannon through the portals. A lot of cannon! In fact as he watched the procession slowly winding its way down the hill he counted forty of them. All of them modern, horse drawn, long barrelled cannon, and each with a crew to walk beside them.
Edouard hadn't realised that the portals were able to transport such large groups at once. Individual soldiers coming through he understood; wagon trains were something else entirely. But there was a more important matter to consider. They were long range cannon. And that could only mean that an assault on the city was planned.
The few cannon they'd brought with them from Bitter Crest were all small, lightweight affairs, loaded with grapeshot and designed for field battles. They could be loaded quickly and then decimate an attacking army. But these were heavier, longer barrelled cannon which likely didn't fire shot at all. They fired balls. And they weren't field weapons. They were siege weapons designed to break walls. The walls of Theria. Walls which he'd assumed were still broken after the mammoths had charged them so many months ago. Unless they’d been repaired.
Or maybe, he suddenly thought, they had been brought to destroy a temple. A typhoon gate as the great dragon had called it.
Either way, he realised that was a matter the war masters would no doubt have considered, and which didn't concern a simple soldier like him. And maybe in time his brother would explain the thinking behind bringing the weapons through. There had to be some advantages to having a brother leading the army after all.
“Ahh, there you are!”
Edouard turned abruptly as he heard himself addressed, only to see Janus standing there with a strange smile on his face.
“My most difficult patient, and I assume the same for the healers here as well.” The physician's smile grew broader. “But that changes now. Jacket and vest off please.”
Edouard would have objected. He would have told him that the middle of the camp was no place for a gentleman to remove his clothing. And that there was a medical tent nearby. But he knew there was no point. Janus might have said please, but there had never been any question of his refusing. So, reluctantly he let his protest die on his lips and started removing his jacket. Then at Janus' urging he removed his armour, chain and vest until he was standing there half undressed in the middle of the group, being laughed at quietly by the others, while the healer began his work.
Naturally Janus was thorough. Thorough both in his work and in his condemnation of Edouard's pitiful attempts to care for his wounds. Wasn't he getting tired of that by now? Besides Edouard thought, the wounds hadn't been so bad lately. They itched more than they hurt, and these days his vests didn't have a lot of blood in them when he washed them. On the other hand it was good to feel the healer's magic seeping into his damaged skin again like the warmth from a fire.
“By the Seven he hurt you!”
Edouard heard Leona's voice behind him and winced a little. If there was one person he had never wanted to see his injuries it was her. Because he knew just how hard she'd take it. When he was her responsibility, and when he'd ordered her to leave him while he lay in that dungeon, how could she not? But apparently this was his day for visitors.
“April said, but I still didn't imagine.” Her voice trailed off.
“It's all right Precious. I'm healing.”
And he was. Not just his flesh, but also his soul. He didn't know why exactly. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was simply that he was part of an army and had seen so many others hurt and killed that his injuries didn't seem so bad any longer. Or maybe it was that Simon was no longer about. Or it could simply be that the simple act of fighting those who had harmed him had freed his mind of its grim shackles. But at least some of the darkness had lifted from him.
“Not well enough. Those injuries will trouble you for years to come and the scars will never fade.” Leona's tone became firm all of a sudden. “We should bring you to Tyrel for a full healing. We have an alliance after all.”
“No!”
Edouard snapped at her, though he didn't want to. But the one thing he never wanted to do was to see the hamadryad again. He didn't care about alliances. He didn't care that she possibly wouldn't want to harm him. He simply didn't want to be so near such a powerful being again. Someone whose very presence seemed to reshape the world around her. The others were lucky. Their lack of magic left them blind to the reality of Tyrel. They were like people walking the tightrope, unable to see the terrible fall beneath them and so were unburdened by the fear of falling. But not him. Never him. The one thing he didn't understand was how his little sister with her own spark could not be frightened.
“You're behaving like a small child!” Leona told him sternly.
If Edouard could be brusque than so too could Leona, and she was used to ordering children around. He was less used to being treated as one. But he did understand that he shouldn't have snapped at her.
“You don't see her as she is. You can't possibly understand.” And more than that he didn't know how to explain it to her. How did you explain colour to a blind man?
“I understand perfectly! You're frightened. But still, she can help and we don't give in to fear.”
Edouard didn't know how to answer her, but he still knew one thing – he wasn't going to see Tyrel. He'd had more than enough of the powers. So instead of explaining that to her, he stood there silently while Janus continued his work and did his best to ignore her. Perhaps he was acting like a small child, though he would never admit it.
“There is no point Leona. The offer was made before and refused.”
Edouard winced as he heard Kyriel's voice coming from behind him and realised that yet another woman was witnessing him in his state of undress. Was there to be no end to his humiliation?
“Lord Edouard has many talents, but stubbornness may be his most well practised.”
Edouard, somewhat surprised at being referred to so respectfully by the handmaiden even though she was telling him off, decided his best option was still to ignore them all. He wasn't going to win. He knew that. And Janus had to be nearly done. Assuming he didn't slow down while he was busy laughing at him.
“He has always been difficult.” Leona it seemed agreed with the handmaiden. And as Edouard stood there, trying not to redden and failing, his sister began to list all the examples of his contrariness while the healer chuckled away. Soon others were joining in, and he could do nothing but stand there and endure it.
Eventually Janus released him, and he was able to grab the fresh vest the healer had brought for him and cover himself. At least once he finished dressing the laughter slowly died away. It seemed that there was less to laugh at when he was dressed. For which mercy he was grateful. But that wasn't going to stop his older sister from dressing him down.
“Precious.”
He went to his sister despite all the mistakes he'd made during his life that she was still busy listing, and hugged her tight. It was good to see her no matter what. And it finally seemed to silence her.
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He did wonder though, how she could be standing in a field, surrounded by soldiers, and chaos, and still manage to radiate beauty like a flower garden. Sometimes he thought that that might be her own special magic. As he'd said so long ago to Kyriel and Mara, all of his brothers and sisters were blessed in some way or another. Marcus with his unnatural strength and vitality, him and April with magic, Leona with her beauty, and Thomas he suspected with quickness. Even Simon had been blessed with the skills of a trader and the luck of Virius himself. Maybe their father had made some sort of deal with the Seven.